


The Darkness Belongs To Everyone

by PrettyOddChild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Castiel, Blood and Violence, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon John Winchester, Demon Sam Winchester, Discrimination, Hunter Castiel, I don't think I'm gonna kill anyone crucial so there's that too, M/M, Racism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 92,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyOddChild/pseuds/PrettyOddChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a reclusive hunter, keeping well away from those that could cause him harm. Angels are never safe - regardless of their habits - and although Castiel keeps his distance, working alone when he does, indeed, receive an assignment, he's almost as hunted as the creatures that cause the very nightmare he lives.<br/>Work is scarce.<br/>Wages are poor.<br/>The world is a wasteland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this is something I'm going to continue or not - it's just a project for when I have writers block (because I really want to write hot, angsty sex scenes), but if it gets a decent response then it might be updated sooner rather than later.

It’s hard to decide what exactly it is that you want from life. You make a decision, you change your mind. It's strange really: how something as simple as a 'yes' or 'no', or even a 'good' or 'bad' opinion, can dramatically alter the events to follow; because decisions aren’t always easy. You need to think – evaluate each and every outcome to make sure _that_ decision is the _right_ decision.

But then, what defines a decision as a right or wrong one? Is it morals? Wants? Needs?

Or is it just out of pure spite?

Whenever Castiel was faced with a new decision – a new moment where there were so many outcomes, so many potential futures he was eliminating – he considered every last possibility, anxious as to whether it was indeed, the right choice to make.

Like now. Faced with the sudden issue of whether or not the werewolf spawn should be allowed to be spared or not.

The boy was young. By normal standards, considered too young to even survive the turning process, yet here he was: shrunken in on himself in the far corner of the room, having watched Castiel murder the beast responsible for such an occurrence.

His entire family most likely dead.

The past few days had been rough – too many victims, so many threats. Castiel didn’t like his job at the best of times, but he couldn’t let the freshly formed pack tear the small town to shreds. He had a job, and he was being paid. There shouldn’t have been any other motive or obligatory requirement to kill these pitiful creatures.

But the boy would become just like any other creature Castiel had dealt with over the previous thirty-seven hours; murderous and out of control.

Castiel had made his decision, and he was going to stand by it.

The bullet pierced the boy’s forehead, a spattering of blood scoring the mildew-ridden walls of the basement, and the body sagged, dropping gracefully to the floor. It was the most merciful death he could give the child, and he almost felt pitiful, wondering what it would have been like if he’d permitted to let the boy live.

_Wrong._

It was wrong to think about what would have happened, whether it would have been good or bad. Castiel had done his job. _That_ was the right thing to do. He didn’t need sympathies marring his judgment.

The boy had needed to die.

Castiel sheathed his pistol in his holster, casting one last glance about the dank space.

It was so similar to the other homes in the vicinity: a scarce basement to every house, almost like each family had thought they required a bunker-like room for safety. They were right, in a sense. It was good protection, but only if one understood how they could use such a bunker properly.

It wasn’t their fault; the families that had lived in this town had been unaware of the attack. Most of them were, in the majority of cases, unless they’d been warned prior, but even then it was difficult to make them listen. Very difficult indeed.

They weren’t ignorant as such, but they refused to believe. After all, why should they trust someone who looked just like them, someone they’d never met in their life who was trying to convince them to leave their homes for a reason they could not fully explain?

It was all simply a story to them – some tale of horror used to scare children.

_None of it was real._

It was the sort of attitude everyone had. Everyone who wasn’t a hunter, or the _hunted_ , that is.

By the time they did believe, it was usually too late.

Castiel turned toward the staircase, kicking aside the leaking corpse of his earlier victim, scowling at the bloody residue it left on his boot. The werewolf rolled onto its side, traces of its mid-transformation still lingering on the flesh; clumps of hair and thick patches of skin.

It's what he hated most about the hunts. Sometimes he wouldn’t have to see the corpses for too long, but then there were days like today; where the issue had been greater than anticipated, and the inhabitants of such a place had been forced to adapt to a life that would eventually corrupt several others.

The _murder_ of, in this case, semi-innocent beasts, was what kept him alive though. He had to earn money somehow, and being an angel in a land of demons wasn’t easy. It was hard to find work where people were actually accepting of him; so used to angels being something along the lines of religion orientated do-gooders (or so he’d been described in the past), and demons weren’t fond of working with him either, for obvious reasons.

Actually, the reasons weren’t that obvious. Castiel didn’t use his powers for his assignments, relying upon provided weaponry to take down the target so not to steer all the attention from the other hunters, both humans and demons alike. If he used his powers, people would prefer _his_ service, resulting in a lot of jobless hunters, and just as many enemies. He didn’t want that – especially since they hated his kind enough as it was.

He strolled into the dim-lit corridor, stooping to collect his duffel from the doorway as he began to ascend the stairs, taking them two at a time to get out of the house quicker. The police were probably on their way, and although a ‘thank you’ would be nice every once in a while, Castiel doubted they’d be grateful when they saw the damage: homes a wreck and slaughtered bodies all over the streets. This was one of the most severe cases Castiel had seen as of yet – the body count was tremendously high, and Castiel hadn’t found any survivors. They’d been turned already, killed, or had presumably fled whilst they had the chance.

Castiel could imagine what his superiors would say.

_It’s just a small town. It won’t be missed._

Yes. Because friends and loved ones would not be missed. Cherished possessions and memories wouldn’t be abandoned and left to become ruins.

A ghost town would form, and if Castiel had made a different decision before partaking on this hunt, the majority of the population would have been saved.

He cursed upon thinking what he could have done to make things right. He couldn’t turn back time, and that future was gone. Forever.

Castiel stomped through the remnants of the living room, tearing open the shattered front door to escape outside. The sunlight made his eyes ache after spending so long in the darkness of the basement, and he squinted down the road, taking in the silence and the disturbing tranquility the absence of the human population – absence of any population, for that matter – provided. It reminded him of the days he’d spent seated in his home, at peace with himself and the less intimidating wildlife around him. No jobs, no threats. Those days were bliss.

These days were hell.

He started the walk down the empty street, dousing the porch of the home housing those that'd been turned with gasoline found in a nearby shed to burn the remaining evidence, ensuring all the werewolf corpses had been cleared from the paving to dispose of in the fire. He had a long journey back to his pay-stop, and then an even longer one home, and he was too exhausted to use his wings. There were cars everywhere he looked, so he assumed he could simply kick start one of the vehicles in order to travel back.

He chose some kind of Honda model, all smooth edges and silver in colour: average. It didn’t take too long to kick start – even more so once he realized the keys were still in the ignition.

Driving wasn’t really his area of expertise, but it was easier than walking, and although he was slow in terms of the pace he set, he was being safe. He needed to be.

The roads surrounding his route back were virtually barren, scarce patches of dirt that gradually developed into grasslands and forests, a calm and serene travel. But there were few – if any – cars headed in the direction in which he came, although they weren’t necessarily heading toward that town in particular. Even if they were, it would only alert the police should they still remain unaware. Everything would be aired directly back to base before he even arrived, ensuring him of his pay.

Sometimes Crowley was doubtful of his work, but Castiel never failed. He didn’t want to ruin his reputation by screwing up a job so simple, but every last werewolf had been taken care of. He hadn’t detected any other form of dangerous civilization in the vicinity once he had decidedly finished, so he had assuredly completed the task to his full potential.

If a werewolf had gotten away, he would have tracked it relatively easily, but they had all kept themselves situated in the town, mauling the humans who were too unfortunate to escape in time.

Castiel had tried to protect everyone as best he could, but it was hard to work alone, albeit more to his preference. Teamwork – the cooperating well with others – was something his personality was not best suited for. Of course, he’d enjoy the company, but he didn’t know how well he would fare with the company of someone else in terms of communication and battle strategies.

Crowley had offered him partners in the past, but the companions offered seemed just as reluctant to work with him after actually meeting him for the first time … or after hearing he was an angel.

That always seemed to kill off any potential friendships.

Angels were very few and far, scattered across the earth in their ever decreasing numbers. He knew that in Africa, they were purposely hunted for their blood: the ultimate cure to any illness, or so the myth goes.

Castiel could heal himself, and he could heal others if he so wished, but he didn’t understand why his kin were murdered when they could have simply aided those in need. Blood congealed; blood went out of date, believe it or not, and it was cruel, more importantly, to kill a creature that did nothing but want to help.

Obviously, Castiel hunted, but the creatures he killed had been murdering mindlessly, not for some fallacy. They were out of control - a danger to the population - and angels were not. Angels did not harm humans, so in return, they should be treated just as well as demons were.

And of course, Castiel needed the money. The hunts provided him with wealth, and without them, he would starve. It was difficult enough not having what others would consider a real home, but to have no wealth at all would be even worse. He had tried to live off of the land, but he was either threatened for stealing crops, or he simply couldn’t find any edible resources around the area in which he lived.

He didn’t want to move. He had everything he needed right where he’d situated himself, and it would be a bother to transport it all elsewhere. And besides, he liked its secluded location. He didn’t receive company, and he didn’t desire it. It was a perfect area for him to house himself.

He’d considered taking in a pet as some form of company in the past, given his isolation, but he lacked the desire to maintain its upkeep. Not only would it be difficult to train a creature not to abandon the cave in which he called home, but he also knew it would be far happier out in the wilderness. He couldn’t force it to like him, and he would only being taking it from its natural environment. It was cruel, and he didn’t want to ruin someone else’s life for his own selfishness.

He turned left onto the highway, pushing down a little harder on the accelerator when he noticed the car pull in behind him. He would have much preferred to fly back – it was a far faster method of travel after all, but he still didn’t feel strong enough. There was a wound on his back – several deep scratches from where one of the beasts had toyed with him whilst he was down, ripping into his muscle with a gleeful expression on its face and a disgustingly animalistic mannerism in which it went about doing so, reminding him that the creature _wasn’t_ human – that it was most certainly gone beyond the point of no return.

Of course it had hurt. Of course he had killed the werewolf as fast as he could. But it was making him weak and it would be a few days before he would regain his usual power – and even though it could be fatal, he couldn’t afford to turn down a job offer if one came his way anytime soon.

His Grace had staunched the bleeding, but it hadn’t dulled the pain, and every so often, Castiel would feel it throb, a trickle of blood seeping from the wound and making the remains of his shirt stick to his skin, the scent of blood burning his nostrils as he tried to divert his thoughts.

He thought about how well he would be paid for a job like this – how much the money would be worth it, and how he could buy more thread to fix his clothing, more food to fill the make-shift pantry. Although this assignment had been severe in terms of rank, he would be able to keep a little money hidden away for when jobs were scarce. Things would work out perfectly.

He let his mind wander for the three-hour drive that followed, surprised that the vehicle he was steering had a significant amount of fuel – enough to do the journey two times over - but obviously, he still required gas for the drive as close to his home as he could reach on the road, so he took the shortest routes possible, conserving the energy so he wouldn’t have to walk as far later.

He pulled up outside the crumbling shack along the dirt road he’d been driving down for around half an hour. He left the keys in the ignition, knowing full well that there was no one around to steal it; no one around to puncture the tires or smash the windows. It was rare for someone to visit Crowley directly, but Castiel was an exception, having no bank account or home address in order to receive his pay.

Well, he had an address of a fashion, but he didn’t want the other hunters finding out where he lived. He didn’t want to become the next target, vulnerable should he do something wrong.

No. He was quite content in collecting his pay from his employer by hand.

The inside of the shack was as dusty as it always was, paintings hanging crookedly on the walls with cobwebs almost pinning them in place, drawn over the frames like delicate pieces of string, keeping the position of each hideously painted image held at a jaunted angle.

This wasn’t Crowley’s official house of business, but that wasn’t somewhere he really wanted to visit either. The older hunters gathered there – the ones that used to hunt his kin before it was banned by those in higher power. Castiel wasn’t scared of them as such, but he didn’t feel comfortable surrounded by those with the desire to drain him of his blood like a nest of vampires. Not when the stares he received were that of pure hatred and distrust.

The shack was far more welcoming in comparison, and far less dangerous.

He wandered over to the centre of the room where his pay was situated, the tiny paper bag of his wages waiting on the rotting floorboards with a slip of paper tied to its seal.

It was unusual for the money to simply be there without Crowley to hand it to him, but that was most likely what the note was there for – to tell him that he had other business to attend to, or something of that nature.

Castiel bent down, picking up the light delivery and rolling the bag over his palm, taking the slip of paper between his thumb and index finger to read the other side. Crowley’s scrawl was rather hard to decipher – especially since Castiel had never really had the education that provided him with the knowledge of how to read adequately. Long words were the most difficult to decode, and when they were written in the same unattractive cursive that Crowley used, it was even more complicated.

 _Well done for_ … something, something. Most likely for the job, followed by some snarky comment like he made when they met face to face.

He wished he could read to the extent that he could understand simple orders such as this – more so he could appear more literate. The hunters he’d encountered in the past often mocked him for his inability to read fluently. It wasn’t his fault, and maybe if they weren’t so ignorant, they would find better things to do with their time than irate him with their nescient comments.

Anyway, the lower half of the letter was fairly complicated. Something about a meeting.

Castiel had never been set a task that was solely down to an interview – or so Crowley had written it. He didn’t know if it would be like some kind of interrogation, or to see if he was adequate for some kind of prescribed task, but wasn't as if he actually cared. He might not have been considered the most friendly or sociable hunter around, but if it meant higher pay for simply communicating, then he was absolutely fine with that.

Castiel crumpled up the piece of paper, stuffing it into his pocket as he rose to his feet, leaving the shack in the same manner he had entered. He winced when he got outside, the gash in his side, throbbing as he made his way over to the car. He hated having to focus so much of his Grace on a wound, especially since his power had drained so much already.

Castiel hadn’t been eating properly over the last few days – a lack of jobs being the cause, resulting in next to no pay coming in. He’d pretty much had to starve himself, eating the very bare minimum to keep his resources high, but at the same time, he’d been wasting his energy on reshaping his cavern, using his Grace to dig out a new chamber, seeing as the last one had crumbled into a mess when the earthquake had hit several weeks ago. It wasn’t that big a deal – he was simply grateful the spring hadn’t been harmed, and obviously, that his belongings hadn’t been crushed in the process. All of his weaponry was left in perfect condition, but his makeshift bed had been buried in rubble. He’d had to sleep on the little clothing he’d possessed until he’d crafted a new mattress out of the foliage that grew around his home.

He liked making things for himself but it was often incredibly time consuming, and often a waste of time completely unless it benefitted him in terms of nourishment.

When he was at his strongest, he could manipulate the nature around him – but that was only once he’d eaten properly and had a decent night’s sleep; something that was very hard to come by these days. There were good days and bad days, but neither aided his sleep pattern. If he was lucky, he would get five hours of sleep a night at the most.

It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t lose as much strength as he would if he didn’t sleep at all.

Castiel clambered into the car, mindful of his back as he rested against the seat again, taking a few deep breaths before turning the keys.

It seemed to take longer: the journey to the all too familiar forest, and when he finally arrived, he continued on down the road to abandon the vehicle some distance away. He didn’t want anyone tracking him back to his home; he didn’t want to be hunted himself, and the prospect of someone bleeding him dry had his hair standing on end.

He was stronger than humans – even stronger than demons – but certainly whilst he was at this level of strength, he would not be able to put up much of a fight. Even more so if he was asleep when the capture took place.

It was rare to see anyone about his area of forest as it was, and he’d be able to sense if someone was near, but only whilst he was conscious. His senses dulled considerably whilst he was asleep, which was most unfortunate. He definitely needed to eat more if he wanted to improve that, but it would only be temporary, so there wasn’t much point. He knew he wouldn’t ever have a consistent flow of wealth, so saving his money for when he needed it most was always the more sensible option.

He got out of the car after briefly searching the dashboard and side doors for wallets and the like. It wasn’t something he’d usually do, but he’d taken the car now and he had no intention of ever giving it back. The owners of such transport were most likely dead anyway. That or they’d also never want to return to the town again, scarred by the sudden massacre of their neighbours and friends.

That seemed to happen a lot.

Castiel headed over to the edge of the forest to begin his trek through the undergrowth, ducking beneath the low hanging branches and sliding over fallen trees. It was laborious and far more tiring than he’d anticipated, but he pressed on, stopping by the stream to rinse his back.

The wound stung, and the water turned a cloudy shade of red, but Castiel didn’t want it getting infected. He was susceptible to illness and disease just like any other creature – unlike the myths that other hunters spread of them – but those were usually very easy to cure himself of. Once again, it all came down to his diet and energy.

He followed the stream, keeping on the dirt bank rather than wading through the water itself, even if it would be beneficial to his wound. He could wash it properly once he arrived home – and he could care for it at that point in time.

Sometimes he scavenged medical kits and various other pieces of equipment from the sites he visited, usually from household bathrooms, but on the odd occasion he had found some in certain cars. They were just as important as food sometimes, but he didn’t really like to steal, so it was rare to do so. Most kits he purchased from the nearest store to this part of the state, so if he ever ran low on supplies, they were never too far away.

He stumbled a little as he neared the first clearing, not used to having to tread over the raised roots of trees, and the plant littered floor. It made his back ache even more when he tripped, resulting in him removing his shirt altogether, stuffing it into his duffel before slinging the bag back over his shoulder.

Considering the time of the day, it was still incredibly warm; the heat of the sun burning down on his bare skin even whilst he kept to the shade. That was one of the few disadvantages to living in this particular area of land: the weather was often drastic. Snow storms in the winter, water shortages in the summer, and just a general lack of natural foods anywhere throughout the entire year.

The water shortage wasn’t too bad seeing as the spring behind Castiel’s cove never dried up or became dirtied by the dry soil scratched from the ground. It was shielded and constant, until the frost hit. That was the only time it became a difficulty.

But the surrounding streams dried up or disappeared during the summer, and sometimes they didn’t return the following year. They were like the roads in which Castiel could follow when he was lost – or rather, when getting lost had once been a concern. He had memorized each and every inch of the forest, so losing his way was no longer a problem, but following the streams was always the simplest method to get where he needed to go. Especially in instances like this, where his Grace was weak and the weather was taking its toll on his exhaustion.

He trailed down to the left, pushing his way through the willow as he approached the second clearing: the one nearest the rock face. There was a third clearing just a short way down to the right where Castiel usually set his traps. Catching animals was another way to keep himself alive, and they provided much more nutrition than a simple can of baked beans and some bread, but it wasn’t often that he caught them. A lot of preparation was needed to actually make the animals into food, even if it was useful to smoke and salt certain meats for preservation. He usually did the hunting in the first few weeks of autumn in order to stock up for winter, in addition to buying as much fruit and vegetables as he could with his pay. Jams were simple enough to make, and they provided him with a small amount of energy in addition to their sweet tastes, and he usually made soups and broths out of the vegetables, freezing them with his Grace to preserve them in the cavern walls. It was fairly easy to heat them up in the winter months, and again, it was far healthier than tinned and ready-made products.

But it was far more expensive, and it was very rare for Castiel to have enough to last him through the season when his pay could buy so very little. It was frustrating, and what made it worse was the fact that he could do absolutely nothing to change his lifestyle. Without education – without the ability to do something as simple as to _read_ – he was useless. The humans did not know of his angelic nature – they could not see his wings like the other beasts could – so they could not be forgiving or understanding. They would simply tell him to get lost, like the many positions Castiel had interviewed for in the past. _Real_ jobs. Jobs where he wasn’t required to murder some poor creature who had no consciousness of ever harming someone out of amusement or instinct.

Too many times Castiel had tried to save up for an education, but his survival was far more important. He just couldn’t afford to let his health deteriorate in the hope of achieving better employment. He needed to be realistic.

He had a job, and right now, it was the only thing keeping him alive.

The trail was far muddier today, given the summer storm that had threatened to hit days ago. Castiel was glad he’d been out on a job when it had occurred. He always found it harder to sleep when the weather raged so violently, and it usually meant his focus was off for the next job in the future.

He’d been awake for forty-nine hours straight as it was, so it was definitely a relief that he could sleep without fear of being woken too early. He planned to sleep until at least six in the morning if his body allowed him to rest that long, given that the note had specifically stated seven as the meeting time – that much he could understand. And obviously, he knew of the address. Maps weren’t difficult to read, and he’d visited the area before in the past, so finding this isolated cabin wouldn’t be too hard.

At least, he hoped it wouldn’t be too hard. It wouldn’t be anything like his own home, so spotting it from the treetops shouldn’t be anywhere near as complicated.

Castiel strode up to the nearby rock, laying a palm on the smooth surface and dragging it along as he wandered down the easily missed dirt path. It was cold to the touch – refreshing, almost – and it was nice. It was home.

He rounded the corner, starting up the steady slope that he had molded himself, having flattened out the jagged edges so that he could even walk along it bare-foot. He was oddly proud of all the work he’d put into making something as obscure as a rock into his home, knowing that if someone did come looking for him, this wasn’t the most obvious place in the world. Some hunters were still ignorant enough to believe that angels lived in the trees, or even that some of them returned to Heaven to make their home. It was this kind of unaware insolence that annoyed Castiel more than anything else. His kind had been run from their initial homes in the forested lands – and yes, at some point or another, they may have lived in the treetops, but they didn’t sleep on the branches like everyone seemed to assume. They had built homes just like any other creature – houses like the humans, in more of a tree house fashion, but they were homes none the less – and they had been content.

As for the Heavenly aspect, it was hard to return to a home when the entire connection to such a place had been severed.

That was the work of the demons, corrupting the dimension angels had once thrived in for pure entertainment, casting them down and claiming the serene world as their own.

Or so Castiel understood it.

He had never been to Heaven, born unto earth like many others. The story of how they'd been forced from their original home had been passed down through each generation, reminding them of why the demons were cruel; why demons shouldn’t be trusted again.

Maybe it was slightly harsh of him to despise demons so very much for the lifestyle he was forced to endure now, but they really were the reason why he’d lived without education; why he’d lived alone and been made to construct a home from his environment.

All of this was because of the history between their kinds.

It was best not to think about it. He didn’t really commune with demons, and in return they didn’t bother him. Not unless Crowley had thought it amusing to situate both of their hunts in the same location.

Castiel wasn’t very fond of hiding out until they’d grown tired of chasing him with torches alight with holy fire.

Of course, Crowley was himself a demon, so Castiel couldn’t really bad-mouth their species in front of him – in front of anyone, for that matter. Crowley ran the largest hunting business in America, so whoever Castiel chose to talk to, the information would reach his boss eventually.

But that provided him with an excuse not to talk to any other hunters, and it made things far easier job-wise.

He preferred to keep to himself anyway, and here, in his cave; he couldn’t be hurt or laughed at by anyone. It was safe.

He wandered into the dark space of what he called his front room, tapping his finger on the rock wall to make the fungus glow, casting blue light over the near-empty space. It was minimalistic, but it was efficient; all of his furniture was based off of that he’d seen in an old magazine, manipulating nature in order to build himself a couch and a bed – even a few cabinets, carved into the wall with his Grace to keep his food cool and preserved.

He threw his duffel to the ground before grabbing some bandages and soap from the shelf that hung beside the opening of his home, holding them in the crook of his arm whilst he took the ragged towel in his other.

It had been days since he last bathed, and it was all he could think about: cleansing himself, dressing his wound, and hopefully getting a decent night’s sleep. That would be the ideal way to end yet another hellish day.

He stripped off his remaining clothing and dug out his shirt from his duffel before heading back outside. The spring would most likely be warm without Castiel having to heat it up with his Grace, so that was one less thing he had to waste his energy on, pleased that he could relax with little effort today. The air remained humid, sticking to the sweat on his skin and making it that more difficult to breathe.

Sometimes the heat could be overbearing, and surprisingly, this wasn’t even the summer weather at its worst. Although Castiel could alter the temperature of naturalistic material around him, when it came to cooling himself down, it took a lot more effort, and his power didn’t ever work on his clothing, for some bizarre reason.

But he could freeze the sweat on his skin, as disgusting as it was to think about, and that usually helped the issue – and as for winter, he simply applied more clothing. It wasn’t difficult at all.

Aside from the fact that he had very little clothing as it was to dress himself in, but he coped.

There was a lot he had adapted to over the years.

A few birds darted by as Castiel made his way down the concealed trail, hidden in the foliage like a reclusive spot.

Well, it was reclusive in a way – in a very big way. Castiel had lived in the same location for almost ten years, and not once had he seen a human in this area, nor had he encountered any creature that resembled those he had to hunt. It was quite simply a haven where he could not be harmed. A safe place that belonged to him alone.

And it always would.

*

Castiel wound the bandages tightly around his torso after drying the wound as best he could, wincing a little as the material shifted with every slight movement until he got used to the discomfort, putting away his remaining medical equipment as he readied to settle down for the night. He focused as much of his remaining energy as he could on the wound to make it heal faster, numbing the pain somewhat, but not really healing the flesh. Already there was a faint splotch of blood staining the stark white of the bandages when he craned his neck to take a look.

He chose to ignore it, knowing that it would seal shut in his sleep, given that his energy would be focused on the injury for the entirety of his dreams. It might make him marginally weaker the following morning, but at least he would be safe from infection and further hurt.

He lay down on his bed roll, drawing the tattered and patchy comforter up to his chin as he vanquished the light of the fungus with a tap to the wall beside him. The darkness swallowed him whole, and even the visible light from the moon did nothing to enhance his vision, but he relaxed nonetheless, closing his eyes and allowing his thoughts to take over for him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep – he never remembered falling asleep – but he remembered the dream. Always the same dream. Never different.

It had been that way for four years now.

The familiar plea for help echoed in his skull: a young boy with bright eyes crying out desperately for someone to hear him – for someone to _save_ him.

Castiel never did anything.

It wasn’t as if he knew who the child was; not a name nor address, simply a blotchy appearance and a voice overcome with despondency to go by. It wasn’t enough.

But it was just a dream. It shouldn’t have concerned him. He didn’t need to save anyone.

There were differences between dreams and reality. Significant differences.

Of course, the nightmares were often real. He lived the nightmares, and never encountered the idyllic paradises many were said to dream about. He couldn't remember the last time he’d had the stereotypical dream – if he ever had, in fact, dreamt such a thing in the first place – and he wasn’t sure whether the child in his dreams classed as a nightmare or not, but it continued to haunt him.

The same voice. The same message. The prayer for help.

_Please!_

It wasn’t like that of the war ground – the nightmares he lived. There were no screams of pain, or stacked bodies of his kin.

_I need your help. I can’t leave, I can’t get away._

There was no blood. Just a virtually faceless child with bright green eyes; speaking the same message, never growing older.

_Please help me._

_Please._

*

Castiel started his day by debating whether to take his duffel with him or not. He wouldn’t actually need his weapons, but he didn’t know the hunters he was dealing with and it most certainly wouldn’t be a bad idea to take some kind of weapon with him. He opted for a .45 and a small blade to tuck into his boot – nothing a regular hunter would be seen without.

And obviously, he still had the power of his Grace, no matter how weak it was. It would help a little, and although he would require his strength to fly home afterwards, his safety was far more important than using the quickest method to return home.

He still didn’t want to tire himself out as much as he had done the day prior.

He’d slept well – so well, in fact, that he’d woken up late, sleeping through his alarm.

Castiel decidedly skipped breakfast, what with not wanting to actually _arrive_ late. From what he understood, meetings such as this rarely lasted long at all, and it meant he could pick up supplies on his way back. He hadn’t purchased anything other than canned products in quite some time, so some fruit would be a nice change, no matter how much the prices had gone up. He needed something that actually held nutrition every now and again; otherwise he would be way more susceptible to illness than he already was.

The journey to the cabin was fairly tolerable, if it wasn’t for the sharp ache in his back from losing focus. He knew he should have redressed the wound before setting out, but he would have plenty of time to do that later. A job would always be considered more important. Especially one that held chances of a higher pay.

The cabin itself was much more finely kept than that of Crowley’s shack. The outer walls were built up of sturdy logs, thick and dark in wood. It was the sort of place Castiel wished he could build himself, but that would require hours he did not have, and strength he could not acquire without a considerable amount of food. A cave was much more suited to his needs anyway. It didn’t stand out as much as a house, and it also had the capacity to house all his belongings. It was ideal for _him._

He rapped on the front door, taking another glance around the secluded area. The trees curved over the even darker roof, and through the far clearing he could see a lake, the water bright and contrasting between the golden foliage. It was nice around here; a quiet spot that clearly wasn’t visited very often at all – more like a holiday home than anything else.

Admittedly, it made Castiel rather jealous. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had time free of work, unless the days he was rendered jobless could be considered anything like a vacation.

The sound of the door being unbolted had him turning his attention back to it immediately, forcing a pleasant smile onto his face when he spotted the boy lurking in the doorway. Well, he wasn’t a boy as such, but he looked young. He couldn’t have been any older than seventeen.

“Hello,” Castiel greeted him, ducking his head a little in an attempt to see further into the cabin. It was surprisingly dark, and all Castiel could see were shadows, outlining the very few pieces of furniture that decorated the single room he could see.

The boy kept quiet, opening the door further and stepping to the side as if to welcome Castiel in. His silence was slightly unnerving, but Castiel wasn’t one to judge. For all he knew, the boy could be a mute, and if he were to pass comment, that could cause an assortment of problems that he would rather not face. He intended to keep this meeting civil and as friendly as he could make it.

He would make a good impression.

Castiel nodded his thanks as he stepped inside, casting his eye above the beams above him before turning his attention to the bordered up windows, shrouded in gloom. “So are you the one I’m dealing with, or is there –“

A match hit the floor, and suddenly Castiel was surrounded by flames, a circle of heat that formed a barrier destined to be impossible to cross.

He was trapped.

He had fallen into a damn _trap_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the hell?!”  
> Castiel took off running, throwing a glance back over his shoulder as the demon rose from his seated position on the ground, dodging through the thicket as he tried to find a clearing – somewhere safe that he could take off for flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news: i wrote a new chapter!  
> bad news: it sucks
> 
> I just wanna speed on through their relationship but I can't! I like long-developing relationships too much ...

He cast a glare over at the boy who was closing the door, half of his face now concealed in complete darkness as the fire became the only source of light in the room, and then Castiel saw the shadow pooling at his feet: the long, wisps of fog that barely stood out from their surroundings, writhing out across the floorboards.

 _Demon_.

Castiel reached for his hilt slowly whilst the boy’s back was facing him, the demon walking over to a table a short distance away. Castiel drew his gun from the holder, snapping the safety off as quietly as he could before he took aim.

He didn’t care if it would ruin his chances of a job – if this really had been about some form of work, he wouldn’t have been caught in a ring of holy fire like some sort of prisoner, and they would probably be halfway through some sort of negotiation.

The boy cried out as the bullet tore through its shoulder, throwing a glare at Castiel before the weapon was ripped from his hold by one of the dark tendrils, flying into the demon’s hand where it was rid of its ammo and tossed to the side in a matter of seconds. Useless.

But he’d injured his captor, so it wasn’t in vain. Maybe it wasn’t a severe wound, but Castiel hadn’t expected the boy to begin pacing in the other direction.

In a way, he was somewhat relieved. The demon would become his only chance of escape if he couldn’t find some other method to go about it, and he knew his Grace would prove to be ineffective against the flames so there was no point wasting energy on something that would be so very fruitless.

He looked around his surroundings desperately – for anything he could use to eliminate the flames. He could coax one of the beams down – have it break a pathway for a few seconds so he could get past.

That was probably the most sensible option, seeing as he could do so undetected.

The demon was clutching at the fresh wound, staring at him from across the room, still keeping quiet. Castiel chose to ignore him completely, not really deeming him that much of a threat. The boy had had a chance to hurt Castiel in return and he had chosen not to. It was a weak creature, and for that, Castiel was incredibly grateful. It would be easier to escape with someone so pathetic watching over him.

Unless, of course, it was receiving orders from someone else. If this was about his blood – if whoever it was, was intending to drain Castiel, regardless of whether the act was illegal or not – then Castiel understood the reluctance to hurt him.

Couldn’t afford to waste any of the goods now, could he?

But Castiel didn’t know if that was what this was even about. It was the most likely option, although there was a possibility it was some other reason for the capture that he was oblivious to.

He didn’t particularly want to ask, knowing that there was a chance the demon would be resilient to answer. Most demons were discriminative, and rarely took in anything Castiel said on the few occasions he communicated with their kind; save for Crowley who seemed to treat him as something of an equal to the other hunters, in spite of his own demonic heritage.

But asking about such a thing was the wiser idea. He could have quite simply hurt an innocent.

Although, if the child was in fact innocent, he probably would have told Castiel of his intentions already. It was beginning to scare him: the prospect of being murdered in the name of something illegal, no matter what the cause. Castiel didn’t deserve to die – he was good at what he did, and he always did his job to the best of his ability, so why …

Castiel looked down to his shoes, clenching his empty palms until his nails bit into the skin, knowing full well what was going on here.

Crowley had set him up.

In all honesty, Castiel had known something of the sort was bound to happen at some point throughout his career, but out of all his employers, he’d trusted Crowley most of all. Crowley had paid better, and never forced him to pair with anyone to get the job fulfilled.

And now he was stabbing Castiel in the back after feigning a bond similar to that of respect between them.

“Why are you holding me captive?” Castiel asked quietly, unable to hold the tremble from his voice. It wasn’t just fright tainting his words, but anger.

How could he have been so stupid as to trust a demon for work in the first place? Every other employer he’d had prior had been human, yet that desperation for higher pay without putting any other hunter out of work had marred his ability to make decisions. He was an utter fool for believing that any demon could be as generous as Crowley was.

It was embarrassing.

He looked up to meet the boy’s stare when he heard the sniggering. It wasn’t a particularly cruel sound, but to Castiel, it was almost mocking. Egregious. Typical demonic attitude.

“Shoot first, ask questions later, right?” The demon grinned, flashing his teeth. Castiel already knew from harming him that the demon wasn’t a mute, but he hadn’t expected his voice to be so low for someone who appeared so young.

He narrowed his eyes, watching the smile slip a little on his captor’s face, his features diminishing in what could have been the subtle gentleness that had been there momentarily.

Castiel had never followed that rule – if a creature needed to be eliminated, it was. Questions would slow down the process, especially when he could simply detect any other hunted constituent with ease.

“That wasn’t an answer,” Castiel stated with a little more confidence, reminding himself that he was talking to a _child_ and not his former employer. He began to tease the nails from the targeted beam above him, prising them free from their tightly secured spots as he waited for a reply. He could sense that it would not cause any kind of cave-in of the roof – this beam was for stability like all of the others, and one would not be missed.

Just like he wouldn’t be missed if the demon killed him.

The boy in favour walked around the ring of holy fire, rubbing at his brow – almost like he was stressed. The action had Castiel on edge, unsettled by the demon’s mannerisms.

But then again, Castiel had just shot him. That wasn’t exactly a relaxing experience, no matter how well his captor seemed to be coping with it.

The demon wet his lips, looking off to a bordered window, shrugging. “I dunno.”

Castiel frowned, his burst of annoyance causing the beam to make a slight creaking noise as a surge of Grace was forced toward it. “You _don’t know?!_ You’re holding me here against my will yet you don’t know _why_?”

His captor shrugged again. “I was just told you were gonna help.”

“Yes, well I would have helped if you’d chosen _not_ to hold me here like a prison –”

“Don’t even try that crap on me," the demon interrupted, shooting him with some kind of exasperated look. “I’m not an idiot, okay? You’re an _angel_. If you were outside that ring, I’d have been dead minutes ago."

“Unlike your kind, angels don’t kill for pleasure,” Castiel retorted, locking eyes with the boy as he stepped closer to the edge of the fire. The flames were hot, warning him to keep his distance, but the demon looked at him threateningly – eyes filled with distrust. “Capturing me for your own selfishness is the reason why I would kill you.”

The moment that followed was met with silence, nothing but the crackle of the holy fire echoing about the room, and Castiel averted his eyes, resisting the urge to disparage the demon any more. He actually expected it to question his words, so the quiet of the room was surprising.

Castiel tried not to focus on the boy – he didn’t particularly want to talk to him if he wouldn’t find out anything on his capture. Instead he focussed fully on the beam above, finding the strongest points to weaken, all the while tampering with the nails that held the timber in place.

He flinched a little when the shrill sound rung through the air – a cell phone lighting up on the table just a few steps away from where he stood – and the demon walked over, answering it abruptly.

“Hey.”

It was a casual greeting – clearly someone who was close to him – if not met with a rather thwarted tone. That was slightly contradictory: a person they cared about, but didn’t want to talk to. It was actually rather amusing to think about.

“No, sir. Everything’s fine.”

Being shot in the shoulder must be a regular occurrence if the boy considered it to be ‘fine’. Castiel snorted with amusement, noting the obvious discomfort the demon experienced whilst speaking to whoever it was on the phone. Their boss, most likely, although it was confusing to think that the demon would great his boss so nonchalantly to begin with. Castiel wouldn’t have ever addressed Crowley through such a method. It would seem rude, and would quite possibly put him out of work.

The demon threw him a dirty look before facing away with a scowl.

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel continued to observe the boy, watching the way his free hand clenched into a fist at his side, that same phrase repeated again: “Yes, sir.”

Whilst the demon continued to move about the room, conversing with his boss, Castiel managed to slip out the first nail from the beam, catching it in his palm to put in his pocket, preventing it from clattering to the ground. It was far easier to go about it whilst the demon was distracted; going as far as to work on the remaining nails simultaneously, unable to reach over the fire and catch them should they land on the other side. It would be much simpler this way, and the demon wouldn’t be aware of it at all.

His side was throbbing, but he ignored the pain – the pain that was present because his Grace was no longer focusing on the gashes – as he began to pace the circle, making himself seem bored and not at all occupied.

“But, _Dad_ –“

Castiel froze, able to hear the shouting that was suddenly emitted from the device. He was surprised, moreover, that the demon had been addressing his father as ‘ _sir_ ’ – that this demon’s _father_ was the one ordering him to hold Castiel captive.

Well, at least it was clear now as to why such a young boy was getting involved in these sort of matters. Demons were like that: pushy and controlling, believing their ideals to be correct over someone of lower status’.

Castiel almost pitied the creature in front of him.

The boy shot a look at him over its injured shoulder, its eyes almost sympathetic, and Castiel felt the sudden urge to find out _why_ he was being looked at like _he_ was the child – like _he_ was the one had apparently done something wrong.

“I want to talk to him,” Castiel announced boldly, holding out his hand a little further away from his chest. He couldn’t actually cross the fire with any limb – the flames acting as a barrier, much like that of a Devil’s trap for angels, only it hurt to the touch, and would most likely kill him if he attempted to pass it.

The demon looked at him like he was being ridiculous, continuing the conversation as if Castiel had said nothing at all.

“I’m not stupid,” the demon mumbled, wetting his lips again. Castiel didn’t know if the phrase was intended for his ears, or for the recipient on the phone, but he didn’t really care.

The child _was_ stupid.

There was a pause, and Castiel decided to start pacing the circle again, distracting him from the pain flaring in his lower back, keeping his eyes on the demon all the while. The boy’s facial expression became dark and full of irritation, “No – I haven’t!”

Castiel waited patiently, taking note of the anger washing over the demon’s face, eyes sheathing behind those all-too-familiar black lenses, “Because you said _you’d_ do it!”

The shouting came again, slightly tinny and marred with an irritating buzz that had Castiel cringing as he moved about, but then the demon was marching out of the room, swinging open the cabin door and heading out into the sunlight. It slammed behind him, leaving Castiel in that discomforting silence once more.

It was the boy he could hear shouting next, speech disfigured through the thick walls, becoming incomprehensible.

Castiel looked to the ceiling, eying up the beam. He could feel that it was close, the weight of the wood resting on three of the nails completely, whilst the others hung limp in the frame of the wood, teetering slightly as if they would fall any second. It creaked and groaned as the mass was distributed on the remaining sliver of metal, bending them out of place as Castiel came to a stop to the right hand side of where it was situated above him, screaming at the nails with his Grace to will it loose.

It crashed down harshly to the floor, the force making the cabin quake beneath his feet, and a loud rumble to sound about the room.

Castiel didn’t waste any time escaping the ring of holy fire, walking across the beam as fast as he could whilst the flames licked at his ankles, leaving surprisingly sooty streaks over the already dark denim of his jeans. He jumped back to the floor, wandering over to where his gun lay discarded and disarmed. He picked it up gingerly, before digging out a few bullets from his jeans to load the weapon once more for protection.

He looked around the rest of the cabin hurriedly, rushing to the far side as he sought out another means of exit. He’d prefer it if he didn't have to face the boy because the child hadn't actually done any wrong yet. He hadn't really deserved to be wounded in the first place, and although Castiel had virtually threatened him, he would rather not have to take anyone’s life without an order to do so.

Castiel sighed exasperatedly at the lack of any other form of exit, other than the blocked windows which would take a while to clear, and even then he wasn't sure how _safe_ it would be. Broken glass gouging into his skin wasn't exactly a thought he wanted to dwell on, and he walked briskly back across to the front of the cabin with his gun clasped tightly between his hands.

He couldn’t hear the demon as he stepped closer to the front door, opening it cautiously to peer out into the forested area. It hurt his eyes after spending so long in the shadowed room, but he couldn’t see – or hear – anyone about as he made his way onto the dirty ground.

“What the hell?!”

Castiel took off running, throwing a glance back over his shoulder as the demon rose from his seated position on the ground, dodging through the thicket as he tried to find a clearing – somewhere safe that he could take off for flight.

The wound on his back burned and rubbed as the bandages were shifted over the gashes with the movement, chafing the surrounding skin and knocking at the thin scabs that had barely formed over the injury. Everything had begun to ache, but he couldn’t afford to stop – he didn’t want to risk his safety, and the threat of being bled dry was still fairly probable.

Maybe _this_ demon wouldn’t hurt him, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t do the actual procedure after he was recaptured, and he didn’t want that to become a possibility.

The boy was far faster than Castiel expected, but then again, a wound to the shoulder was hardly going to slow his pace. Not as much as Castiel’s own injury, anyway.

Castiel felt something tug at his ankles, tripping him up and forcing him to the floor. Pain exploded in his back as the wind was knocked out of his lungs: a severe burning sensation as the wound was reopened, and he cried out, twisting his body to the side to avoid smashing his head open on a rock.

He struggled for air, kicking at his captor as the boy seated himself on the lower half of his spine, and Castiel couldn’t hold back his scream as the bandages were dragged over his wound with the movement, bucking backwards as he attempted to throw the demon off.

But the boy was heavier than anticipated, and it only seemed to make the situation worse.

“Stop fucking yelling,” the demon hissed, pinning Castiel’s wrists to the floor.

Castiel choked as he tried to take in a breath; his arms held at an incredibly uncomfortable angle against the dirt. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t concentrate his Grace as best he could, barely numbing the pain as the cloth dug in.

“Now when I move offa you, you’re gonna stay completely quiet – got it?”

Castiel kept silent, gritting his teeth when the demon applied all his weight to his back, trying to focus all of his energy on the shadow wrapped around his legs. The boy hissed a little, and then the dark touch was gone, leaving his legs available for movement.

Not that it would do much good now that he was on the floor.

“Got it?” The demon repeated again.

“Fuck you,” Castiel wheezed, stifling a whimper when the demon forced his face against the ground harshly, dozens of sharp pieces of grit digging into his temple and cheek. His lip split open against a particularly sharp object - it felt like a blade in the smooth cut it produced - and he cried out again as dirt worked into the wound.

“Why the hell are you being so stubborn?”

Castiel chuckled darkly, coughing a little as the earthy dust was blown between his parted lips, “Take a guess, assho –“

A hand slammed over his mouth, cutting off his speech but freeing his left arm, and he wasted no time in raising his ankle to deftly slide the blade from the quarter of his shoe, elbowing the demon in the ribs and assuming a position above the boy’s chest. He pinned both arms above the demon’s head with one hand, using his other to press the knife threateningly against his captor’s throat. All it would take was a simple swipe of the weapon and the boy would be the one bleeding dry onto the crumbling soil, but he could see the sheer pain in the demon’s facial expression from his shoulder being so abruptly moved into an uncomfortable position, and as much as Castiel wanted to slice open the flesh, he couldn't help but stall in his actions, only a trickle of blood gleaming from where the knife rested.

He simply couldn’t bring himself to decide this boy’s fate.

It was much different being this close, seeing the worry lines that shouldn’t have tainted his forehead at such an age, and the crusts of blood in his hairline where a wound still lingered. A child like him should have been at school – not out and about, picking fights with supernatural creatures and fulfilling his father’s orders. This was no life for someone so young.

But it wasn’t simply the faded scars and evidence of past troubles – it was his features: youthful and feminine, and then there were his eyes; the surprisingly green irises were uncommon for a demon to possess, and they looked so very familiar. It felt odd to want to murder someone who resembled a past colleague or companion – especially since he’d had so very few who were actually convivial.

It was shameful really: that after so many years without a companion of the sort, he was unable to place names to faces. He could remember the two entities separately, matching them to a personality of sorts, but when it came to recalling exactly who they were and what they had helped him with specifically, it became rather complex.

He tended not to dwell on it too much, understanding that they would have most likely forgotten him. He was nothing special.

Castiel attempted to snap out of this state he was in, pressing down with the blade to create a longer incision, if not a little shallow.

It was pathetic, actually, coming away as nothing more than a graze. Harmless, unless infection set in.

The demon didn't even flinch.

“You reopened my wound,” Castiel snarled, leaning down to make his words heard as he tried to appear more intimidating. He was still struggling with his breathing, and the entirety of his lower back was dampened with blood, the bandages sticking to his skin unpleasantly and making him cringe, but he ignored the disgusting sensation, attempting to focus his Grace on the pain. It would take a while before he’d be able to fly home afterwards, but healing himself was far more important. He didn’t want to die of blood loss on his way back – then his journey would have been all for nothing, seeing as he had thought he was going to die here.

For a brief second, he swore he could see the boy grin, before the demon vanished completely with a sooty outline replacing his figure, and Castiel crashed to the floor, throwing out his arm so he didn’t land on his knife. The weight returned to his spine, his arms pulled back and his wrists locked together by some kind of spell as the boy placed a palm on Castiel’s left shoulder blade, keeping him pressed to the ground.

“Don’t know why I didn’t do this before,” the demon mumbled, a smile to his voice, and Castiel gritted his teeth, squirming as the hand moved to settle on the back of his neck. He could feel this obscure coolness enveloping the skin, circling round over his throat and casting an odd kind of restriction over the flesh. It was heavy and strange, and it didn’t take long at all before he realised what it was.

“Take it off,” he growled. “Take it off me now!”

The demon laughed, rising up to roll Castiel over harshly before he was sitting back down, straddling Castiel’s hips and brushing his fingers over the exposed area of Castiel’s neck, just beneath his chin. “Pretty little angel ain’t so tough now, is he?” He cooed, tapping the metal of the collar twice. “Let’s see you Houdini yourself outta this.”

Castiel closed his eyes tightly, summoning his Grace to begin corroding the steel accessory.

Nothing.

He aimed it toward his lower back, twitching slightly when the fingers carded through his hair.

Nothing.

"What the hell did you do to me?!" Castiel shouted, pushing to the side so the boy couldn't use him as a Goddamn _cushion_.

"Why would I tell you that?"

Castiel could feel the hot prickling of tears in his eyes, rolling face down into the dirt again. Everything was pain, and he _knew_ how this was going to end for him. No angel lived after such a procedure, no matter how much blood was taken.

"Let me go!" He yelped weakly, the threat of crying straining his throat as he wept against the ground. "I'm sorry for hurting you! I can heal you again – you don't need my blood!"

Shouting and begging did nothing to aid him. The demon, though young and injured, hauled him from the ground to return him to the cabin. Castiel could have laughed at the reaction such a child gave when they entered the building, having noticed the fallen beam splintering the floorboards, but the demon continued further inside, digging his nails into Castiel’s thigh whenever he tried to break free as the boy opened up a hatch in the floor, carrying him down to a basement.

Castiel was thrown to the ground and chained to the wall by his collar, left in silence as the demon retreated upstairs.

He knew what was going to happen to him next, and he wasn't going to allow it.

He struggled around on the cold, concrete floor of the lower level, no matter how much the pain increased, hooking his wrists around his ankles from behind until they were pulled before him, and he tugged at the thin chain separating the cuffs harshly. The metal pinched his skin and he cried out, trying again after rotating his wrists a little; trying to apply pressure to a different location. He knew deep down that there was no way he was breaking free of these without his Grace, or the child, and that burning returned to his eyes again, sinuses feeling tight and uncomfortable.

He sighed, slamming his head back against the floor.

He should have done it. He should have killed the child when he had the chance. Opting not to was one of the worst decisions he’d ever made, and now he was going to _die_.

Castiel rolled onto his side, glancing over his shoulder at the ugly dark stain spreading over his back. It was all he could focus on, but he didn't understand. The demon _knew_ he was injured - that he was bleeding out - so if this was about his blood, surely they'd be a little more concerned?

Why the hell was he even here?

 

*

Dean sat against the hatch with his belt between his teeth, wincing as the tweezers sunk into his wound, twisting to pinch the bullet. He was used to wounds like this, but his dad wasn't here to patch him up, and that Goddamn _fucking_ angel had started shouting up from the basement again, demanding answers. It was like the asshole didn't even consider the fact that _Dean_ had a freakin' headache!

He slammed his fist down on the floorboards, shouting around the leather strap, "Shut the fuck up!"

He looked down at his shoulder, at the tweezers lodged in the gunshot wound, and he scowled. He hadn't expected the angel to have a gun, and to be injured thirty seconds after meeting the guy was fucking embarrassing - especially when Castiel had been held in a fucking trap!

He took hold of the crippled instrument, twisting it unceremoniously until he hit gold, adjusting the angle so that it clasped the bullet, and he pulled it out slowly, feeling the sweat touch his brow. He should really be grateful it hadn't shattered his shoulder blade or something. _That’d_ be a bitch to sort out

"Fucking _fuck_ ," he hissed, prising it from his flesh and flinging it across the room along with the tweezers.

One job down, a shit-ton more to go.

Dean had never enjoyed stitching up wounds, and it was gonna be even more of a fucking challenge to fix up the angel without knocking him fucking unconscious. This Castiel wasn't how Dean had imagined him to be at all.

Dean had been told angels were warriors, fighters, and he'd expected someone intimidating; someone with a powerful glow instead of some measly yellow nightlight to express his strength. His dad had warned him about the glow, how the brighter they were; the warier you had to be.

The angel might be muscular, but that glow of his was nothing to write home about. It was weak, and pretty pathetic, in all honesty.

Dean hadn't been worried. Not to begin with.

Castiel had been strong enough to bring part of the fucking roof down, when John had specifically told him that angels wouldn't be able to do jack-shit in a ring of holy fire. Unless Cas was a special little bunny, then Dean didn't know how helpful his dad's info on the species would be, more so after the angel's screams at how he'd heal Dean without the aid of some fucked up blood potion.

John had never mentioned anything like that before.

Then again, an angel is perfectly capable of lying.

But _God_ did Dean hope he wasn't. He didn't want to have to kill anyone if it wasn't even a crucial part of the process. Sure, he’d done some pretty nasty stuff over the years, but this? Bleeding someone dry whilst they were kept conscious?

Just a bit fucking unnecessary.

But it’s what his dad had told him they were doing.

There really was something quite twisted about force-feeding someone nutrients and extracting half a litre of blood a day. It wasn’t the sort of thing Dean wanted to get mixed up in – especially since it was punishable by death in the hunter community.

They shouldn’t even be risking something like this if it meant no one could look after Sam. His dad was being fucking ridiculous.

The shouting came again: quick bursts of words that were muffled through the flooring this time, making Dean groan as that pulse of agony pressed to his temple again.

He rose to his feet hastily, knocking the medical kit aside when he tore open the hatch leading to the basement, storming down the shallow steps as he pulled on his shirt to tell the ignorant asshole to shut up for the last time.

Castiel was lying on his back, staring straight at him with a look of pure discomfort on his face. Dean didn’t really blame him, what with the presumably large injury on his back that had made him practically gush blood earlier on. Dean wasn’t sure how it was right now, but he wasn’t gonna ask yet. Castiel’s gaze wasn’t exactly inviting.

"Is it genuinely impossible for you to shut up for five fucking minutes?" He hissed, glaring down at the angel. Castiel was frowning, blood smeared around his mouth from a filthy cut on his lip, and _JesusfuckingChrist_ if that contaminated the blood, his dad was gonna kill him!

He backed out of the room as quickly as he'd entered, rushing up the stairs again to grab the medical kit, before returning to the cold room where Castiel was watching him with wide eyes; shuffling back until he was pressed to the granite wall with his knees up to his chin, what Dean could only assume was a prayer leaving the angels lips as the slight whisper danced through the air.

Dean dropped down a few feet away, returning the stare as he grasped blindly into the box, finding the sachets containing disinfectant wipes so he could prevent anything dangerous from entering the guys bloodstream.

"Sit up," he demanded, tearing open the girly packet with his teeth. _Seriously_? There had to be manlier looking brands out there than this Hello Kitty look-alike crap. It was fucking embarrassing.

Castiel stayed completely still, his eyes flicking to the box and back every time that Dean so much as breathed.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Just sit up so I can clean that ... that." He gestured to Castiel's face before slamming the lid of the med box closed, "Cut on your lip."

The angel kept silent and still, nothing but a fresh batch of tears to change his appearance.

And there he went again: making Dean feel worse than he already fucking did.

"Come on, man. I'm trying to help," he muttered, slinking forward and catching hold of the foot as it hurtled toward his chest, "Dude! Calm the fuck down!"

"Get off me!" Castiel wailed, kicking out his other leg. Dean caught it momentarily, letting go once the angel stopped struggling and Dean was able to move closer, tugging on Castiel's wrists lightly.

Cas had closed his eyes, those mumblings coming again as Dean pulled him up, resting him against the wall.

But it was unsettling to see how similar he looked like Sam in this situation: all weak bodied and scared, and it wasn’t fair that Dean had to deal with him alone. His dad should be here to help out – to make things easier.

To tell him again and again how this was the best answer to their problems. To reassure him as such.

Dean tilted the angels chin up towards him, watching his brow furrow when the damp cloth was pressed to the wound, attempting to wipe away the dirt beforehand. Castiel jerked away suddenly, his head slamming back against the wall, and Dean cried out on his behalf, cringing at the sound, "Be careful, you idiot."

The angel’s eyes opened a little, a sneer on his lips, "Really concerned about the whole blood loss situation, huh?"

"What? You're hurt!" Dean argued, drawing back slightly. He could see this greyish glaze to Castiel's irises, a filter that practically made him look dead already. "You think I'm just some insensitive asshole, right? You don't think I genuinely want to help you?"

Lying came easy when it a distortion of the truth. Dean was more concerned about not getting his ass kicked if he screwed this up.

Right now, blood loss wasn't an issue. John wasn’t going to arrive for a few days, and that was enough time to sort the angel out properly beforehand.

He tilted the angel toward him again when Cas kept silent, wiping at the cut carefully so the guy wouldn't chance at cracking his head open again. It was different this time with Cas watching him, eyes focused on every damn movement like he was dead set on working the truth out of him. Dean was trying his hardest not to look anywhere other than the injury, but Castiel's gaze was burning his face.

"Dude, can you stop sta-"

"If you're so intent on _helping_ me, then why am I tied up in a basement and not back home?"

Dean looked away completely, stalling his actions, because as much as he would have liked to let the guy go, John would be fucking pissed. "I'm not even meant to be talking to you," he muttered. He didn't have another response. Not that he needed one. Castiel was a prisoner, and Dean didn't even have to answer to him in the first place.

"I don't want your pity - I want my life!" Castiel spat, kicking at him again, "You have no fucking right to choose whether I live or die!"

Dean ignored the dull ache the angels foot made in his side before meeting the cold glare, "At what point did I say I pitied you?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes, the tears still rolling down his cheeks. It completely contrasted: the watery eyes and the rough voice. It was throwing Dean off.

This guy - aside for shooting Dean because he was fucking _scared_ \- had done absolutely nothing wrong. He didn't deserve what was coming, and yeah, maybe it would help Sammy, but was killing an innocent really the right way to go about it. And again: punishable by _death_!

He reached to dab at the angels lip again when he heard the distinct rumble, and he couldn't help but smirk, "Did someone skip out on breakfast?"

"Fuck off!" Castiel snarled, kicking him again, and this time Dean rose to his feet, scuffing back and grabbing the med kit as he went to leave.

He turned when he reached the doorway, looking back over at the angel. “Sorry,” he muttered, the taste of bile rising in his throat, as the angel curled up on the ground, shaking. He felt sick just thinking about how he’d have to deal with that for the next few days. Castiel knew exactly what was going to happen and probably even how.

Dean could think of much better ways to go.

 

*

Castiel drifted in and out of dreamless sleep over the next few hours, the pain never leaving him for long at all. It was constant but dull, sharp stabs in his back every so often that roused him from unconsciousness. In a way, he considered it  a blessing, not wanting to be at his most vulnerable when the demon returned. Anything could happen whilst he slept.

He winced at the sound of the basement hatch being hauled open, the creaking as the demon came down the stairs. Castiel could tell it was getting late by the tiny shaft of light let in through the window to the upper right of his position: a dark orange that provided the patch of light with a slight warmth - the only warmth in the room.

Castiel looked down at his hands when the creaking stopped, aware that the boy would be visiting him in mere seconds. The footsteps echoed around him, making his blood pound in his ears and his heart rate quicken.

The demon set down a couple of things on the floor as he crouched, but Castiel didn't bother to examine them, looking off to the patch of light for comfort. He didn’t even try to break away when the demon cupped his jaw, allowing his head to be raised. There was nothing he could really do to fight it anyway.

“You want some food now?”

Castiel closed his eyes, attempting to block everything out. He didn’t want to eat, no matter how hungry he was.

A thumb brushed along his cheek and he cringed internally, hating how very patronizing the boy was behaving. If the child truly sympathized, Castiel would be free. He wouldn’t be in some disgusting chamber where he breathed in the musty air from above.

“C’mon, Castiel. You need to eat _something_.”

Castiel didn’t even want to know how the child had learned his name, and he scowled, pulling back and bringing his knees up to his chest. His back felt like it was tearing open all over again, but he withheld his wince, resting his forehead against his kneecaps. The treatment he was receiving was incredibly degrading; he didn’t want to be babied by anyone, let alone a child.

“Let me go,” he whispered, “Please.”

The demon touched at the top of his head for a split second before apparently thinking better of it, “You know I can’t, Cas. I have my orders.”

“Don’t call me that,” Castiel grimaced. Nicknames were a sign of friendship or mockery, and Castiel wanted neither.

The boy sighed, drawing away, “How’s your back?”

Castiel simply shrugged, leaning against the cold granite of the wall. The demon had been the one to worsen his injury in the first place, but Castiel had learnt to endure the pain over the time he had been seated alone. Infection was most likely setting in – he _hoped_ infection was setting in. It would taint his blood, so he would no longer be of any use to his captor. He would die, or be released, and neither option was particularly interesting to him anymore. He felt numb.

“I can change the bandage if you want? It really should be clea –“

“I don’t want anything from you!” Castiel spat, adjusting his arms against his legs. The tight cuffs were digging into his wrists and the skin had already been rubbed raw from his earlier attempt to break free, so he wasn’t surprised at the cold sting and wetness that accompanied the movement.

What was surprising, however, was the blanket that was draped over his shoulders. It wasn’t the gentlest of gestures, but it was a peculiar one, and Castiel looked up at the boy in confusion as he walked away. This child was becoming more and more difficult to understand; his personality seemed to alter too often and Castiel was finding him to be a rather frustrating case. One moment the boy was rubbing his face in the dirt, the next he was attempting comfort.

Just like the instance prior, the demon slowed in the doorway, rubbing at the back of his neck. For a moment, Castiel thought that something else was going to be said, but the boy left as quickly as he had stalled, leaving Castiel alone once more.

He looked down to what the boy had brought with him as the creaking started up the stairs again, stretching out his legs and readjusting his position so that he could face it all. The medical kit was there again, along with several bottles of water and some kind of fast food meal. Castiel didn’t intend to eat anything provided in fear of it being drugged or poisoned, but he picked up a water bottle warily, drawing it close to his face and peeling off the label as best he could with his cuffs tugging at his wrists. It hadn’t been physically opened, but he still examined the exterior in search of indentations and punctures: any signs that it had been tampered with. He didn’t want to suffer more than necessary.

He twisted the cap cautiously, wincing when the metal of his cuffs dug into the tender skin as he broke the seal and removed the lid. He took a large swig from the bottle, downing half of it in one go. It mightn’t be able to satisfy his hunger, but his throat was dry enough as it was from shouting earlier on in the day, and this was actually quite refreshing in spite of its tepid temperature.

Castiel finished off the bottle, throwing it to the side when he was done before curling in on himself, tugging the blanket closer around his shoulders to keep him warm.

It didn’t take long for the tears to fall.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not shy," the angel grunted, still keeping his eyes averted. "But you're just a ch-"  
> "Blah, blah, blah," Dean murmured, rising up on his knees so that their faces where level. "Stop complaining before I change my mind."

 

 

 

 

Castiel's mouth was dry in spite of the water he'd drunk, feeling heavy headed and slow owing to his utter lack of sleep. He could see the morning sunrise creep through the window pane, making Castiel's eyes itch with a want to close and stay that way. He didn't want to give in to sleep though, knowledge that the boy would return within a few hours in an attempt to provide food or some other essential source of nutrients to alter his blood, and although he still wasn't strong, at least he would be able to defend himself.

And he didn't want the nightmares to manipulate his mind whilst he was so vulnerable. He didn't want the demon to take advantage of that fact.

Castiel pulled his wrists apart harshly when his eyelids began to stick closed, willing himself to keep awake as long as possible. It stung more than he could have hoped for, and he pushed away from the wall to start pacing the room again, keeping his wrists separated so that the cold metal dug into the wounds as he did so. He circled back once the chain was pulled taut, the sharp tug on his neck that made his lethargic movements all the more stilted, chafing similar to that of his wrists starting just over his throat. 

But that wasn't the only discomforting aspect of remaining in the basement for so long, and Castiel was growing tired of simply ignoring the crippling ache in his bladder. The only thing preventing him calling out the demon was his want to keep the boy away from him for as long as possible.

If things got any worse, he'd piss against the wall, even if it would make the conditions more unbearable.

He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the pull on his back from the new movement. Castiel knew that a scab had formed over the wound, but it seemed that any slight movement sent a jolt of pain scoring over the skin, almost as if the skin was as raw and open as the flesh on his wrists. The fact that all his wounds were healing at the rate of a human injury only made things more difficult, and his irritation increased with the press of his blood-crusted shirt against his spine, firm and thick and tainting the air around him so that everything smelt dank and bitter.

He knew that he couldn't remove his shirt without tearing it apart, and it would be too much effort to try and work with the cuffs in place, so he hadn't really bothered. Not only that but he didn't want to make himself appear more vulnerable in the presence of the child than he already felt, and with his wound on display, the demon would be able to pinpoint his weakness exactly.

In a way, he was relatively grateful his Grace had been cut off, solely because it bought him more time. If he understood the situation correctly, the demon would wait for him to be fully healed before they even started the procedure, and Castiel would have been fed something genuinely beneficial to his health. Right now, even though he was exhausted and weary, his Grace would still be growing stronger from a lack of use, so perhaps there was a way to overcome the spells cast on his restraints. As soon as those were off - most importantly the collar - he could be out and back home within a few minutes of such an occurence.

"Well, someone's up bright and early," came the sing-song voice, bouncing off the walls of the basement suddenly, yet instead of starting in surprise, Castiel merely continued to pace, grimacing at the more noticable change in tone as opposed to yesterday. Anything that could be deemed as sympathetic or pitiful was gone, and Castiel was hearing the character he had first met: a boy who was entirely false and unworthy of any trust.

But then again, wasn't that a summary of any demonic spawn? Cruel liars who loved nothing more than to watch others suffer? He had never trusted the boy in the first place, merely surprised by the out of character actions the child had so poorly attempted just the evening before, and he hated how ridiculous it was to want to trust the demon, purely because of his age.

Fucking ridiculous.

"So, how's that back of yours? Want me to take a look?"

Castiel stopped walking, staring down at the grimy floor as the blood dripped down over his hands, arms numb from a lack of any real movement. "No."

"Okie dokie then," the boy huffed in response, and Castiel was having trouble placing the child's exact location in the room without looking up. He didn't want to glance at the demon's arrogant fucking face.

"Shit, dude. What about your wrists? I didn't realise they were hurting you."

Castiel ignored him, starting his pacing up again.

"I need to piss," he muttered, tugging on the cuffs again to keep his mind off the topic of sleep. 

The boy went quiet, and Castiel winced as the metal of his restraints dug deeper into his flesh. The pain was good - useful and distracting, but the pressure on his bladder was worsening and he _definitely_ did not want to relieve himself with the boy watching.

"Right. Uhh ... well, I, uhhh .... I didn't really -" 

"Anticipate my need to use the bathroom," Castiel finished for him, turning to pace in the opposite direction. "Well, I'd rather not deficate down here if it can be helped."

"Hold on."

"I don't _want_ to hold on!" He snapped, looking up. "I've been waiting for ..." He trailed off when he noticed the lack of anyone in the room, and he scowled, kicking at the concrete floor in irritation. If the boy came back with an empty bottle or some kind of bucket, Castiel had every intention of disregarding its presence.

He wasn't a fucking _animal._ The boy had no right to treat him like one just because of their difference in species.

Castiel stumbled back when the boy appeared before him, barely supressing a noise of surprise, before he was being grabbed by the arm and the whole world was spinning with colours around him. It lasted a few more seconds before he found himself being shoved backwards into a mould-ridden cubical in some form of public restroom, the cuffs vanishing from his wrists as the door slammed shut.

"Make it quick."

Castiel flipped the boy off through the door, cringing at the sight of the festering toilet bowl and the murky colour of the water, but there was nothing he could do to alter the conditions whilst his Grace was off limits, so he went on to unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants, not letting the denim fall lower than his knees in fear of the material touching the floor. The tiles were disgustingly tacky beneath his shoes, and he didn't want anything of the sort clinging to his jeans to make the smell of the basement any worse.

He went about it as fast as he could, not wanting to linger in such an unsanitary place for longer than needs be. The boy was waiting for him outside the cubical, looking utterly repulsed with his surroundings, and Castiel brushed past him to reach the sinks, washing his hands before cleaning the wounds on his wrists whilst they were still exposed, wincing at the sting and hot burn as the water ran over the flesh.

"You sure you don't want me to look at your back for you?"

"Of course I'm sure," Castiel offered blandly, rolling his wrists beneath the faucet until the water began to run clear. "As I have said before: the only thing I want you to do is let me go."

"And like _I_  said before: I can't. All I'm trying to do is make you a little more comfortable."

Because nothing said 'comfort' like kidnapping and holding someone captive in a basement.

He looked at himself in the mirror, scowling further at the sight of the dog collar. He really should be grateful he'd been allowed to even leave the room, but clearly the boy was new to hunting otherwise he'd be a little more relaxed than he was. His stance almost looked awkward, and his expression somewhat unsure, and Castiel looked him up and down again before turning fully away from the mirror to hold out his hands so they could be recuffed. He figured that the sooner he looked as if he was giving up, the easier it would be to catch the demon off guard, and with his Grace compressed and growing stronger, that possibility was fast approaching.

He jostled his hands again when the demon didn't react, meeting the boy's eye. "Hurry up. My arms are aching."

The demon smiled slightly - at least, Castiel _thought_ it was a smile - before snapping his fingers to make the restraints return. Castiel couldn't help but notice how loose they were in comparison to the pair he wore earlier, wide enough for Castiel to be able to twist his hands free should he choose to do so, but he was determined not to show his gratitude, letting his arms hang down as he glanced back to the floor. He didn't want to thank a child for something so simple when their intent was actually murder, and regardless: Castiel hadn't requested the change in size, so he could quite easily brush it off and claim he hadn't noticed.

He continued to look away even when the hand settled on his bicep; a gentle touch that had Castiel genuinely confused as to whether or not it truly was the demon, and he flinched out of instinct, making the boy pull away abruptly.

"Dude, I'm not gonna hurt you. I just have to take you back now," the boy said softly, touching him again. Castiel shifted nervously as the palm lingered there, uncomfortable with their closeness and the way the boy was interacting with him.

And he doubted the demon's words, knowing that the reason behind his capture would entail nothing but pain and the utmost suffering.

The world did that flash of colour again, making Castiel feel slightly ill and queasy, and he slumped against the wall when everything stopped, taking in a deep breath.

"You okay?" The demon asked, and Castiel pushed him away to give himself space, averting his eyes as he began to pace the room again.

"You can go now," he muttered, kicking at one of the empty water bottles as he walked past, jolting as the collar was re-leashed to the wall and his distance was restricted. He simply stopped, rubbing his hands over his face in defeat, before pacing in the opposite direction, desperate to keep awake.

"I'll go when you eat the food I brought you." 

Castiel frowned, turning around to face the boy. "Well, then you're gonna be here for a fucking long time."

The demon just stared at him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Castiel continued to pace, rubbing his eyes when they began to ache again, wishing that the boy would just leave him be so he could rest for a while. He knew it was risky, but he didn't know how much longer he could last in this condition. There was nothing to entertain him, and his head was heavy, the thought of sleep enticing him in spite of the promised nightmare. 

He walked to the wall where the chain was connected, slamming his forehead against the concrete in an attempt to wake him up a little.

"Whoa! What the fuck, dude!" The boy yelped, grabbing his arm. "What are you doing?"

Castiel sighed, closing his eyes as the demon tugged him away. "Leave me alone."

"No. Let me look at you," the demon murmured, cupping his jaw. Castiel jerked, pushing at the boy's chest hurriedly to try and break away, far too uncomfortable with the patronising familiarity the boy was using on him. "Hold still, Cas! I told you: I'm not gonna hurt you!"

Castiel pushed him again, stumbling back against the wall. "Stop saying that!" He yelled, toppling sideways and landing hard on his elbow. He ignored the pain, as he struggled up into a sitting position, staring up at the child through bleary eyes. "What the fuck is the point when you're just going to kill me? I offered you an alternate - I offered you a choice that wouldn't risk _your_ life - and I would have been more than happy to help you and your father if you'd treated me as a person, and not as a fucking _pet!"_

He twisted around so that his back was to the boy and his forehead was resting against the wall once more, feeling exhausted and weak with his eyelids sticking shut.

"Don't touch me again."

*

Dean stared down at Castiel's slumped figure, refraining from reaching out and squeezing the guy's shoulder, because it shouldn't have been like this. Dean shouldn't have been _doing_ this.

He couldn't apologise. He couldn't comfort, because the angel was right. There was no point. Cas didn't want anything but freedom, and that was one thing Dean couldn't grant.

Dean moved to sit beside Castiel on the floor, not failing to miss the look of absolute scorn Cas sent in his direction before attempting to shuffle away, but Dean took hold of the angel's left wrist as gently as he could, even though Cas lashed out instinctively.

"Get the fuck off me!" Castiel hissed, but Dean continued to hold on, looking down at the open wounds the cuffs had cut into his skin.

"Explain it to me," he said softly, willing the cuffs to disappear again, even if it would make it easier for Castiel to hit him. "This healing thing you were on about yesterday."

The angel went stiff, and Dean trailed his fingers along the inner part of Cas' forearm, turning it over to examine the rest of the wound.

"Why?"

Dean sighed, dragging Castiel's palm toward his lap as he reached for the med kit with his other hand. "Because I don't wanna waste my time setting you up in the stupid equipment if you can heal someone without having to be killed." He grabbed another one of those crappy antiseptic wipes again, tearing the packet open.

He shouldn't have been talking to the guy. He should have just left when Cas had told him to because his dad had been more than a little pissed when he'd found out about the conversation aspect the first time.

But Cas deserved a chance. Sure, he may be lying, but an explanation wasn't gonna hurt - and anyway, that kind of information could be useful regardless. 

"I can heal using the power of my Grace."

Dean snorted at how utterly _Disney_ that sounded, pulling the wipe from the tiny pink packet to dab carefully at the open wounds on Castiel's wrist.

"Yeah, I'm sure my dad'll set you free after he hears that," he muttered, tightening his grip when the angel flinched in his hold. "Gonna need a little bit more than a fucking sentence to explain this, Cas."

He could hear Castiel swallow, his muscles becoming no less tense than before as he tried to pull away again, and Dean scowled, jerking Cas' arm closer and shooting him a glare in warning. He'd left the medical kit in the basement for a reason, and it was Castiel's own fault if he didn't want to be handled in such a way, given that he'd had all night to sort them out himself.

"It depends on _who_ I'm healing," the angel practically snarled, pushing at Dean's arm with his free hand when Dean went to wipe the wound again. Dean used his shadow to twine around it, slamming Castiel's hand awkwardly against the wall to stop him from interfering.

"I took the restraints off because they were hurting you, jackass - not so you could hit me," Dean glowered, loosening his shadow so he didn't injure Castiel further. "And I don't care what it depends on. Explain it all."

"Healing myself is just a case of concentrating my energy on the injury, whilst healing a person or an animal is much more strenuous. I would transfer the wound to my own body and then heal myself as per normal."

"What, so, if you were to heal me, you'd get a gunshot wound?" Dean murmured, turning Castiel's wrist over again to clean the other side.

"Yes," Castiel said simply, followed by a pause. "On that note, I'd just like to point out the fact that you're currently bleeding through your shirt."

Dean looked down to the grey material, frowning. He hadn't been able to stitch it up without someone else's help, but it was no where near as bad as the wound on Cas' back.

Speaking of which ...

"If you can do all this healing shit, then why are you in such a rough state?" He asked, glancing up to meet the angel's eye. "I mean, seriously: I sure as hell wouldn't go on a hunt with an injury as fucked up as that.“

"I _was_ healing."

"Uh-huh."

Castiel broke his wrist free from Dean's grip abruptly, snatching the antiseptic wipe as he did so. "I require upon my Grace for flight, strength, ability _and_ healing, and it is not a continuous level of power! Sleep and dietry needs affect my limits, and my lifestyle has made it difficult to manage each and every cut and bruise; so I apologise for being 'fucked up', you ignorant asshole! The injury which _you_ reopened was healing slowly, but it was healing nonetheless, and now I can't heal properly at _all_."

There was a bout of stunned silence on Dean's part, mainly because Cas was being so damn aggressive, and he reached for Cas' arm again, knowing full well the angel wouldn't be able to clean his wounds when Dean had kept his other hand pinned to the wall. "Someone needs to calm down," he huffed, grinning at the guy. Castiel's scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing before glancing away to the far corner, not even flinching when Dean took hold of the wipe and continued to clean Castiel's wrist for him.

But he kinda got it. The life of a hunter wasn't exactly easy, and if Castiel wasn't always at full power, his priority needed to be protection, not healing. Sure, good health was beneficial, but what was the point if you were too weak to actually fend for yourself?

"But do you think you'll be able to heal someone who's got an illness, not an injury?" He pressed, crossing his legs as he turned his body fully toward the angel. "Would that be more difficult or what?"

Castiel's eyes swivelled to him, almost like he was being analysed. "The person you need healing is sick?"

"Well, yeah, he's -"

"And once I heal this person, I can go?"

Dean stalled for a moment, dropping the antiseptic wipe to scrub a hand over his jaw. He didn't really feel comfortable with letting Cas anywhere near Sam if it could be helped, and he still didn't have any evidence that Cas could even do that sort of thing.

"You haven't exactly given any proof."

"How the hell do you expect me to prove it when I can't use my power! _You're_ the one preventing me from proving anything!"

"Yeah, because I'm not an idiot! Soon as you get your power back, you'll be melting me from the inside out!" Dean grimaced, pushing Castiel's arm away from him.

"How do you know that?" Castiel asked coldly. "Why would I fuck up the one chance I have at freedom by ending your life?"

Dean just shrugged. "Why wouldn't you? I'm an open target."

"But you're the one in control! If I did anything wrong, couldn't you just stop me?" The angel blurted, and Dean tipped his head to the side, smirking.

"That mean you're planning on evading my talents? Trying to find a weakness?" He teased, but Castiel didnt seem to find it amusing in the slightest.

"I'm trying to cooperate and you're making ridiculous accusations!"

"Ridiculous? You shot me and tried to slit my fucking throat!"

"You were going to kill me! For all I know, you still are!" Castiel yelled. "I'm putting my trust in you, so why can't you do the fucking same?"

"Uhhh, how about because you're an angel, and your kind generally has a reputation for completely obliterating anyone who so much as looks at them funny!"

"If we hurt anyone, it's because we're hunters or we're protecting ourselves! Like I've said before: we're not like demons in the sense that we kill and torment for pleasure, spreading fucking rumours in the hope that an entire species turns extinct!" Castiel exploded, his voice cracking toward the end. "I mean, how often do you find yourself out of work for being deemed the inferior race? When was the last time you heard of a _demon_ being taken hostage with the intent of them being killed?"

"Cas-"

"You don't know the half of what I have to put up with from your kind! I can't even go to a fucking bar without being threatened and objectifi-"

Castiel shut up as soon as Dean willed the sigils to erase from the collar, the angel's Grace growing brighter and his eyes fluttering shut as he leant against the wall, almost in a state of bliss. 

Dean shuffled back nervously, knowing full well that the angel was dangerous, even if he'd promised not to try and hurt him. This was something he wasn't used to, and until Castiel did a little more than simply relax himself, Dean didn't know what to do. The whole brightness thing was starting to put him on edge because it was far more intense than before, which meant that Castiel was essentially stronger than he'd been yesterday. He could probably overpower Dean easily now that he had his strength back.

But Castiel smiled faintly, the cut on his lower lip had disappeared completely, and his eyes reopened, irises practically glowing blue instead of that dull grey they'd been just a few seconds ago. Dean rubbed at the back of his neck whilst he waited, looking away even if it wasn't exactly the wisest option.

"Just to make things clear," he muttered, staring down at the angel's hands to watch the wounds on his wrist close up. It was weird really, seeing the process speed up as much it was, but they weren't healed fully, only enough to stop the blood from dripping onto his jeans. In a way, it was kinda proof about the whole healing thing, but Dean didn't exactly know what was gonna happen in terms of healing someone else. "You do anything to try and hurt me or escape, and I won't hesitate to set you up for the bleeding. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," Dean stated, dropping his hand to his lap. "So ... do we have a deal?"

"If the deal is my freedom in exchange for healing someone, then yes: we have a deal."

Dean grinned timidly, moving closer. It wasn't his choice as to whether Cas would actually get set free or not, but Sam would still be getting healed, and that was the most important aspect. "'Kay. Come here."

Realisation dawned on Castiel's face, and the smile faded almost instantly, eyes cast down to the floor. Dean reached out, touching at Castiel's jaw with his fingertips. 

"Head up, Cas. Can't seal the deal if you're gonna be all shy about it."

"I'm not shy," the angel grunted, still keeping his eyes averted. "But you're just a ch-"

"Blah, blah, blah," Dean murmured, rising up on his knees so that their faces where level. "Stop complaining before I change my mind."

Castiel closed his eyes tight, apparently holding his breath as Dean leant in, carefully pressing his lips to Castiel's own. The angel became stiff as Dean moved his hand to cradle the back of the guy's head, tasting blood and earth before Castiel was pushing at his shoulder, and Dean jerked away harshly as the palm pressed against his bullet wound. 

_"Owww,"_ he hissed, letting go to push Castiel's hands away. "Fucking hell, asshole, you didn't have to do that!"

"You were getting carried away," Castiel griped, a slight blush staining his cheeks. "And I have no intention of letting some teenager get his kicks through making a deal with me."

"What the fuck are you on about? It's compulsory!"

"Well, the last time I made a deal with a demon, they didn't go trying to shove their tongue down my fucking throat. That part sure as hell wasn't compulsory."

Dean bit his lower lip coyly when he noticed Castiel glaring at him, leaning back on his hands. "Clearly they weren't making the most of the opportunity."

"Oh for ... you know, for a kid, you're really fucking disgusting," Castiel spat, moving away again. 

Dean laughed lightly, cocking his head to the side. The angel looked off to the wall opposite, and Dean released Castiel's arm from his shadow completely. Technically, he couldn't inflict any kind of damage upon the guy with the deal in place, a sort of protective bubble around the both of them until the deal was complete. It definitely made him feel safer knowing that none of Cas' freaky energy abilities would work on him, even if it meant he didn't really have as much of a hold over the guy any more. It wasn't like he needed it, but he liked the sense of control.

But Dean didn't know what to do now. He knew he'd done the best thing by assuring Castiel's freedom as opposed to killing him, but he didn't know how his dad was gonna take it. Dean had gone against orders for someone who had tried to murder him twice - for someone who was meant to be considered an enemy of his race - and he knew John wouldn't be that accepting of the choice Dean had made.

That didn't mean Dean couldn't at least try to explain it.

He got to his feet quickly, scrabbling for his phone from his back pocket as he started toward the stairs.

"Wait here," he said softly, shooting a smile over his shoulder as he ensured the chain was secured to the wall. "Decide what you want for breakfast or something."

He didn't bother using his energy to teleport to the upper floor, taking the stairs two at a time. He wasn't gonna be lazy about it, and his dad was always on about how it was an unnecessary waste of his power anyway. 

He closed the hatch when he reached the landing so Cas wouldn't be able to listen in on the conversation, before dialling his dad's number. It took a few rings before John actually answered, but Dean was used to it. He knew his dad had a lot to deal with at the moment, so he wasn't really surprised to hear the curt _'What?'_ as a greeting.

"Hey, Dad. I uhh, need to talk to you about the angel."

*

It didn't take Castiel very long at all to melt through the chain attached to his collar, and soon he was on his feet, striding toward the bottom of the stairwell, even if his eyes were aching. He didn't see the point in falling asleep when he could quite simply be back home in a few hours, depending on when the boy arranged for the invalid to be brought to the cabin, or something along those lines. He imagined that's what the demon was doing now. 

He could hear the conversation above him, muffled through the thin wood of the floorboards, and he walked up the steps slowly, gently pushing on the hatch once he reached the top so not to alert the boy to his whereabouts.

No sooner had he lifted himself from the trap door and seated himself on the edge did he hear what the boy was saying properly, able to watch the demon pace back and forth through the main part of the cabin. The holy fire had been extinguished, but the beam still lay across the floor, the boy stepping onto the end to walk along the length of the wood carefully.

"Look, he's agreed to help! I don't see anything wrong with it!"

Castiel stood up, and the demon looked over abruptly at the creaking of the floor.

"Dude! I told you to wait!" The boy shouted at him, before rolling his eyes and continuing his pace along the beam. "I _know_ what you said, but if I hadn't, we wouldn't have found out about this!"

Castiel put the hatch down, looking around now that there was a little bit more light in the area. He didn't see why he'd have to stay on the lower floor when he was essentially free to do what he wanted now. He had the majority of his power back, maybe not all of it, but he felt far stronger than before.

"Dad, no!"

He tried to ignore the conversation in the background, walking toward the kitchenette and running his eyes over the equipment lain out on the island. He knew each and every item there, and just thinking about how they'd effect him had his head spinning. It didn't help that he still hadn't slept, his hand resting against the countertop as he tried to keep himself upright. Being tired was one thing, but he didn't want to pass out next to the very instruments that could drain him, even if the boy had promised his freedom.

Castiel still didn't understand the sudden change of heart, putting it down to the age of the boy and his naivety. It was a trait that would lead to the child's downfall should he be so very trusting of everyone he meets. Obviously, Castiel was telling the truth, but it would have been so very simple to lie should they not have made a deal to keep their word. At least Castiel had the promise of freedom now; no longer as threatened by the equipment beside him.

"But we don't need to! Are you even listening to me?" The demon blurted. "I can't believe you'd risk getting us killed when we have a solution like _this!"_

Castiel looked up at this point, staring at the back of the boy's head, taking in the tense posture. He knew exactly what they were talking about, but it didn't bother him as much as it would have ten minutes ago, the guarantee of his return home still an unbreakable deal, and there was no way he'd let the boy go back on it now. Such a proposition required both members to agree, and even if the demon attempted to break their promise, Castiel would still be able to evade harm and spells the boy decided to trap him with. That was quite possibly the most reassuring aspect.

There was a long pause, the boy trembling a little as he clenched his fist, the slightest trail of blood leaking from between his fingers to the floor. 

"Yes, sir."

The phone went smashing against the wall, the intricate components scattering over the floor from the impact, and Castiel risked a few steps over, reaching for the boy's wrist. The demon jolted, and Castiel immediately felt his power weaken as the boy turned round to face him, fear in his eyes. Castiel ignored the expression, slightly offended by the abrupt block of his Grace, but he coaxed the boy to open his hand, flattening out his palm to examine the bloody indations his fingernails had left.

"I can heal you, if you want," he murmured, frowning at the sight of the bruises on the boy's wrists. He still didn't agree with the idea of a boy his age hunting purely because his father had enrolled him. If Castiel had been able to lead a different life, there was no way he'd get into hunting.

"I told you to stay in the basement," the boy muttered, pulling his hand away, and Castiel simply stared, unsure of what to do. "I mean, how the fuck did you even get out?"

"Metal isn't very difficult to corrode. I would have attempted to break the collar, but I was worried about the damage it'd cause to my body," he stated honestly, touching at it in scorn. He was actually rather surprised the boy had been able to rid him of his Grace again, but that was most likely because it had been cast on the collar as opposed to Castiel himself. That thought brought with it a sense of dread; the knowledge that the boy could harm him by casting multiple spells on the collar alone had worry rising in his chest. "Is it even necessary that I wear it? I'm a person too, you know, not a fucking dog!"

The boy shrugged, and suddenly a leash was attached, held in the boy's hand. "Need to keep the upper hand somehow, and I'm not gonna go carving sigils into your skin.“

Castiel yelped as he was tugged back toward the kitchen, and he dug his heels in, clutching at the chain so the collar didn't feel as tight around his throat. "What the hell are you doing?! I don't need a fucking _lead!"_

The boy shrugged again, and Castiel stumbled to catch up. The collar was pinching against his neck, and the skin finally rubbed open, the warm slide of blood beneath the metal making him panic and he cried out again, pulling the chain toward him.

"Stop pulling me around like that! I can't heal myself anymore!"

"You need to go back downstairs," the boy grunted, yanking it again.

"I can walk down on my own! I don't nee - stop it!" He yelled, kicking the boy in the back of his knee.

He was knocked backward suddenly, hitting his head on a nearby beam as he fell to the floor, the chain clattering to the ground next to him, and he choked, clutching at his throat. He could taste blood on his tongue, and he spat to the side, grimacing at the lingering flavour in his mouth. He knew it had been stupid to even attempt to hurt the boy like that, but there wasn't exactly any other way he could get the child to notice how much pain he was in, even if it had only caused him more pain in the process.

The boy looked to him briefly, his expression hard, and anything that could have been seen as remotely kind had been replaced with stern features. The black lenses concealing his eyes stood out though, indicating his anger, and Castiel could feel a bout of nausea roll through him at the thought of what the demon would do when Castiel was completely fucking powerless! 

He was grabbed by the arm, transported instantly to the basement, but no sooner had they arrived did the boy disappear, the sigils back on the collar fully, a new chain connecting him to the wall. Castiel felt a little something like relief that he hadn't been harmed further, but then his anger was rising to the surface at the realisation of what was going on.

"YOU BASTARD!" Castiel called out, his voice strained and warbling. He'd thought this demon was different - he'd thought that the age factor had worked in his favour - but again he'd been wrong. Trusting a _demon_ was wrong, regardless of their youth and ignorance, and he should have learnt after working for Crowley that they were all absolute fucking liars.

He couldn't hurt the boy, but the boy could hurt him! By accepting the deal, he'd given the demon fucking _immunity!_

He curled in on himself, not even wincing when the wound on his back pulled open again. He should have healed it completely when he'd had the chance, but he'd wanted to save his energy to heal whomever it was that was sick. Obviously it was a stupid mistake, and now he was trapped again; powerless and weak with blood staining his clothes. His eyes had closed and stuck shut, and everything was hurting. The slightest adjustment of his neck had that cold sting of metal digging into his wound, the trickle of blood trailing down to his collar bone and dripping below the hem of his shirt.

He should have just stayed in the basement. He shouldn't have left, even if he was entitled to freedom after the deal.

He'd fucked _everything_ up.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were instructions and drawings; leaflets and scriptures from older era’s that told him exactly how to set it all up, and he genuinely didn’t understand how anyone could stomach to perform something like this. Half the pictures were horrific: crude sketches of screaming faces and spliced veins, collected together to form a disgusting little manual.

 

 

 

 

 

Dean scowled, stepping up onto the beam as his dad continued to rant on the other end of the line. John was being ridiculous, blatantly making up excuses to persuade Dean to follow his orders, and for the first time ever, Dean doubted his dad’s words. He could remember the things John had told him in the past about angels, and a lot of what he was saying now contradicted those facts, twisted with old myths and this idea that angel blood was the only way to cure someone.

But how hard was it to believe that an angel could heal someone if their blood had healing properties? Sure, Dean hadn’t seen Cas heal anyone, but healing his own wounds was pretty damn close – and his dad had never told him about that anyway! 

“Angels lie, Dean! I don’t care what he’s told you – set him up for the bleeding process!”

“But we don’t need to! Are you even listening to me?” Dean blurted, kicking at the wood beneath his feet. “I can’t believe you’d risk getting us killed when we have a solution like _this!”_

“If you can’t follow simple orders then what fucking use are you? I swear: if the angel isn’t set up by the time I get there tomorrow, you can think twice about coming back home again! Do you understand me?!”

Dean stilled, sucking in a breath as he listened to the gentle noises of Castiel pottering about behind him. He’d known he was risking a lot by protecting Cas, and with his dad showing up three days early, the plan he’d been formulating was _definitely_ not gonna work. Hell, part of the plan had been getting his dad to actually let Cas heal Sam without going behind his back or anything, but he should have known better than to run something like that past him _after_ he’d already made the Goddamn deal!

Even the thought of what John would say when he found out about it had his stomach churning and an acidic taste in his mouth, because Cas didn’t deserve any of the shit John was gonna put him through.

He’d barely muttered out a ‘yes, sir’ by the time he’d realized John had already hung up on him, and Dean let his anger run free, the phone smashing against the wall when Dean relinquished control. 

He wasn’t screwing anything up by helping Cas – they’d made a _deal!_ Dean couldn’t just go back on it! By helping Cas, he was effectively saving two peoples’ lives!

If Sam was gonna get better, then why the hell did Castiel need to die?

He jumped at the cold touch of fingers on his wrist, burning the sigils back into the steel of Cas’ collar, because he hadn’t _asked_ for Cas to do that. He didn’t know what the fuck the guy even intended to do, and he didn’t want to risk anything, even if the deal effectively protected him from any of Cas’ freaky angel powers.

But he could see the warmth in Castiel’s eyes – the warmth that totally shouldn’t have been there, because Dean was a complete and utter dick and was about to fuck him over – before the angel’s gaze shifted to Dean’s hand, gently touching at Dean’s fingers from where he’d clenched too tight. The cuts stung without the ease of pressure applied to them, not that Dean had even realized he’d hurt himself like that, and it only hurt more when Castiel used his thumbs to stretch the skin, apparently examining the tiny marks.

“I can heal you if you want,” the angel suggested quietly, not seeming to mind when the blood ran to touch at the tips of his thumbs.

But Dean couldn’t let him now. He couldn’t give Cas back his power, or even let him go home, because his dad was being an absolutely unreasonable douchebag. He hated the idea of never going home – of never seeing Sam again – and if this meant that he could carry on with his normal life, then he’d protect the things he cared about.

He’d sacrifice the angel to make sure Sam would be fine.

“I told you to stay in the basement,” Dean muttered, pulling his hand away to stop the guy from probing the injury. “I mean, how the fuck did you even get out?”

“Metal isn’t very difficult to corrode. I would have attempted to break the collar, but I was worried about the damage it’d cause to my body,” the angel stated, and Dean stepped down from the beam to walk past, not really caring anymore. He was too occupied trying to think how he could bypass the deal, because there had to be some way he could set Castiel up without having any of his bones broken or his organs crushed. Maybe there was a sigil he could add to the collar to put Cas under.

“Is it even necessary that I wear it? I’m a person too, you know, not a fucking dog!”

Dean knew that. He knew that Castiel wasn’t a pet or an animal; a creature no different to what Dean was himself. He knew this and yet he did what his dad would have done. He behaved in the same way John had _told him_ to in the very beginning.

“Need to keep the upper hand somehow, and I’m not gonna go carving sigils into your skin,” he announced, forming the leash and holding it with his uninjured hand. Carving into the angel was something he couldn’t do even if he wanted to, the deal preventing him from harming the angel intentionally altogether, so right now, weakening the guy’s power was pretty much the extent of what he could do. 

Which meant he had to find some sort of alternative way to stick a syringe in the guy without his permission before tomorrow morning, because John would never forgive him for this.

But it still made Dean feel sick at the thought of how much suffering his dad wanted to put Cas through – just for _two fucking pints_ of blood! Obviously, his dad wanted it all, but in no way was that fair. They didn’t need it all, and yet they were gonna go the whole hog and drain Cas completely.

Maybe _this_ was why John didn’t want Dean talking to the angel: so he wouldn’t feel guilty or cruel for doing something that shouldn’t have been difficult for a demon at all.

His dad was right: Dean was a disgrace.

“What the hell are you doing?! I don’t need a fucking _lead!”_

Dean shrugged as he started toward the basement hatch, tugging the chain to get Castiel following behind.

He understood now why his dad always got so angry with him – why he had to compromise and threaten him before a hunt. Dean was weak and stupid. He couldn’t follow orders without struggling or fucking up completely, and this was a prime example of everything wrong with him.

He’d gone and made a _deal,_ for Christ’s sake!

“Stop pulling me around like that! I can’t heal myself anymore!” Castiel yelped, and Dean could hear the pain in his voice; the discomfort as a result of Dean’s anger.

He tried not to care.

“You need to go back downstairs.”

“I can walk down on my own! I don’t nee – stop it!” Castiel yelled, kicking at Dean clumsily. 

The energy surged out of him – the power he had no control over – forcing Castiel away and tugging the chain from Dean’s grip. He didn’t imagine the cry of agony as Castiel knocked into the thick wooden pillar, or the way his body slumped to the floor; he didn’t imagine the choking sounds or the watery look in his eyes, blood dripping from Castiel’s lips and collar onto the floorboards, and the panic that flitted across his features.

What he did imagine was the fucking _stabbing_ sensation in his chest when Castiel diffidently met his gaze, the combination of both fear and anger practically emitting from his form, twisting the knife deeper every second Dean stood there holding his line of sight.

He wanted to apologise – for hurting the guy and giving him false hope and the promise of freedom when he never really had any control over the matter – because now Cas was going to die. He was going to die by one of the cruellest and ultimately racist methods of torment, and he had wanted to cooperate – hell, he’d just asked if Dean had wanted healing; looking at his wounds like he had a fucking responsibility to actually do something about it, even if they’d basically fought about everything leading up to that point. They weren’t friends – they were the absolute fucking opposite – and _still_ Castiel had offered aid. He’d offered aid when it hadn’t been part of the fucking agreement!

Dean grabbed hold of Castiel, teleporting them both to the basement as fast as he could so he couldn’t risk hurting Cas anymore, before shifting to the opposite side of the room, shielding himself in a veil of darkness.

He didn’t know what the fuck he could do to make things right again. He’d done something without asking his dad first, he’d risked ever seeing Sam again – Sam; who relied upon him for _everything_ when John went out hunting on his own. Now both Dean and John ran the risk of orphaning and abandoning Sam by getting involved in this! They’d thrown away the one chance they’d had at ensured safety, all because his dad refused to believe there was an excuse to let an angel survive.

“YOU BASTARD!” Castiel shouted in the direction of the doorway, nothing but anger in his eyes, and Dean dropped down to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

And to think that Cas had confessed to being mistreated by other demons in the past – purely because he was an angel! It was no fucking wonder Cas had lashed out the way that he had. If this was a recurring thing – if Cas was continually lied to and abused by demons – then Dean didn’t blame him. Hell, he’d let Cas hit him as much as he fucking wanted if the deal wasn’t in place, because this was just so _wrong._ Castiel had opened up about how much he hated Dean’s species because of how they’d treated him before, and here Dean was doing the same thing regardless, only he’d made it worse by actually getting Cas to trust him beforehand!

Just because Dean didn’t like him, didn’t mean he couldn’t do the right thing.

He knew for certain that Cas _did not_ deserve to die – or, at least, not by this method. Dean didn’t know what Cas was like out there as a hunter, or whether he was just as much of an asshole as he was in captivity, and even thinking about that gave him reason to be doubtful of whether Cas would actually come through for him or not; but he _wanted_ to trust Cas, regardless of what his dad had implied before. Sure, Cas hadn’t exactly been pleasant, and the only reason he’d agreed to help was because he wanted his freedom, but then he’d gone and _offered_ to heal Dean – when he couldn’t have possibly caused any harm – with that fucking caring expression on his face like he _genuinely_ wanted to help, and it really wasn’t fucking fair!

There had to be _some_ way Dean could help Cas without fucking up his chance of seeing Sam again.

He looked up from his hands, watching Cas hug his knees to his chest as he lay down; the twinges of pain crossing his features and the sharp intake of breath when the collar shifted, revealing part of the raw skin behind it. Castiel’s eyes had closed, his brow furrowed and his glow almost diminished to nothing, and Dean didn’t know whether that meant Cas was losing more blood than normal or not, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He snapped his fingers, wincing as the sound echoed about the cold room, but he concentrated his energy on creating a smaller version of the collar around Castiel’s left wrist with weaker versions of the sigils on, mindful of the previous chaffing, before the collar crumbled from his neck.

Castiel’s eyes reopened at this, alarm reading all over his face, and yet he didn’t move, simply looking to the smaller metallic bracelet on his arm. Dean hadn’t connected it to anything, but he’d be able to stop the guy if he tried to leave the basement, and it meant Cas would be able to heal himself properly.

So he was fairly surprised when Castiel simply closed his eyes again as opposed to getting up and actually _trying_ to leave, but he could see that the bleeding over his throat had been staunched now so there were only a few droplets of blood on the floor, and it had Dean wondering if Cas’ blood really did have healing properties. From what Cas had told him, it was the whole ‘Grace’ factor that healed him, and when John had talked about it, he’d always said an angel’s Grace was their life energy – like the soul of a human, only when angels made deals, their Grace couldn’t be used as bargaining material. Dean had heard that it couldn’t be taken but it could be given, so didn’t that mean if Cas didn’t actually want anyone taking his blood, the blood wouldn’t have any healing properties? The Grace wasn’t an object so it couldn’t be extracted in any way, and Dean didn’t know how Cas summoned it to heal himself or anything because if it was just some sort of presence, then where the hell did it stay?

There wasn’t any point thinking about it, because it was impossible to take an angel’s Grace, and the idea of a dissection wouldn’t exactly be pleasant. Plus, he was meant to be thinking about how he could _help_ Cas, not steal his invisible life support or whatever they classed Grace as.

But he didn’t know how reliable Cas would be if Dean asked for his help now – not since Dean had essentially abused him and fucked with him completely – because what the hell must this look like? Dean had been intending to do what his dad had asked, and now he was having fucking second thoughts!

It wasn’t just that, but he was pursuing the choice that meant he would _never_ be able to see Sam again, because his dad definitely wasn’t the sort of person to ever go back on their word. He would have nothing – absolutely fucking _nothing_ – because it wasn’t like his family had much as it was. Hell, they lived in motel rooms for the most part, squatting when they couldn’t find anywhere else to stay, and it was a Goddamn _wonder_ that Sam was sick with the amount they had to endure. But on his own, Dean felt no where near confident enough to hunt. Even this: the whole babysitting Cas thing had been fucking terrifying – more so after the fact that his dad had told him Cas needed to _die!_ That sure as shit hadn’t been mentioned when John had talked him through it the first time!

The thing was, he knew that helping Cas was the better option – even if it did mean he couldn’t see Sam anymore. This way, none of his family members were at risk; Sam would get better, and both Dean and his dad would be safe from being hunted down by the Union. The only real threat was Cas, and even then he wasn’t that much of a threat. Dean would just have to bargain a little bit more to ensure that no one got hurt, and he still had more control over the angel so it would be far easier to swing things in his favour whilst he kept the upper hand. Dean found it pretty hard to believe that Cas would refuse the deal when it was the only way he’d be guaranteed freedom, but Dean had already breached the whole trust entity by even thinking about keeping Cas captive, and Castiel hadn’t exactly reacted well to how things had played out.

Dean’d just have to be super cautious.

He got to his feet slowly, wandering over to where Cas lay. He stopped at the sound of Cas’ deeper breathing, dipping down to examine Castiel’s features. He hadn’t expected Cas to fall asleep – especially as fucking quickly as _that!_ Surely Cas would be a little more on guard, because it was only half seven in the morning, so for the angel to pass out so soon after actually waking up had Dean worrying more than he probably should. He still didn’t know exactly _how_ much blood had already been lost from that wound on his back, and if that was what was making him fall unconscious as quickly as that then Dean needed to sort it out as fast as he could. It was one thing collecting blood, but it was another to just let Cas bleed out when that wasn’t even the intention anymore.

At least, it wasn’t _Dean’s_ intention. He still had to figure out how this whole thing was gonna work if he was really going to act against his dad’s orders. Not only that, but he had to find some way to get Cas to promise not to kill Sam out of spite or something – and himself, for that matter. As soon as Cas healed Sam, the deal would be over and Cas would be able to do whatever the fuck he wanted.

There was always the idea of taking Cas to the motel to actually heal Sam there, or obviously bringing Sam to the cabin, but he wasn’t sure how comfortable it’d be for Sam, what with the only real bedding in the place being a musty old sofa in the store room. It would be far less effort to take Cas there and just let him walk after the whole healing thing was done – and considering the fact that John couldn’t teleport like Dean could gave them _loads_ of time. John would have to drive, and that alone had taken him four hours to get to the cabin the last time.

And at least Dean wouldn’t have to confront him about leaving, and he could say goodbye to Sam without having his dad simply kicking him out.

It would be better that way.

But he could discuss that with the angel later. Right now, he didn’t know how he could go looking at Castiel’s wound without the whole protection-reaction thingy from going off. He wouldn’t be _intentionally_ hurting Cas, but he didn’t want to wake the angel up and have him lash out or anything like that, and even if he was to start on it, he didn’t exactly have Castiel’s permission. Dean understood completely why Cas didn’t want him looking at it, because not only was it in a vulnerable place, but Castiel wouldn’t be able to see what Dean was doing. If Dean was in the same position, he wouldn’t want someone of the ‘enemy species’ examining a wound as bad as that. Of course, he hadn’t actually seen it yet, but judging by the blood stain on the back of his shirt and how every slight movement seemed to have Cas wincing, it couldn’t exactly be a minor injury. Dean had been the one to reopen it, so he did feel somewhat responsible for the condition Castiel was in, and he had given Cas some of his power back so he could keep healing it.

So did that mean that he was healing now? Like Cas had said, he’d been healing it slowly so he didn’t waste his energy, which meant that maybe by sleeping he healed faster than normal. It wasn’t like it didn’t make sense, especially since the wounds on his wrists seemed to have vanished completely now; not even a scar to show they were ever even there.

It definitely gave Dean a sense of comfort – more so combined with the fact that Cas was still, like, tanned. Blood loss usually made people look way paler, and Cas didn’t look any different to how he did before.

Apart from maybe looking relaxed. That was a pretty big change in his appearance.

Dean picked up the blanket from where it lay crumpled on the floor, draping it unceremoniously over Castiel’s form before teleporting himself out of the room. He wasn’t gonna go treating Cas like royalty, but since the guy was effectively in the same state as Sam, the least he could do was show some compassion to the one person who could actually help. And maybe if he was a bit kinder, the angel hopefully wouldn’t have as much of a problem with making amends.

He made sure the trap door was sealed with a spell, ensuring that Castiel would stay in the basement until Dean had devised some kind of plan – a better plan – that maybe ended with him being allowed to stay with Sam. Going against John’s orders was hardly a great idea, and Dean had _never_ done something as stupid as this, but he had so many doubts about the properties of Castiel’s blood that he just didn’t care anymore.

So long as Sam got better, Dean would be happy.

He transported himself to the kitchenette, staring down at the collection of needles and tubes and those ugly wire clamps that his dad had told him to pierce Castiel’s jugular with. There were instructions and drawings; leaflets and scriptures from older era’s that told him exactly how to set it all up, and he genuinely didn’t understand how anyone could stomach to perform something like this. Half the pictures were horrific: crude sketches of screaming faces and spliced veins, collected together to form a disgusting little manual.

Dean rolled up the canvas bag hastily, locking away the papers and instruments so he could put it to the side and forget about it. They shouldn’t have even had a kit like that – it was wrong and terrifying, and the mere thought of an entire species being hunted down for some false misunderstanding really did make him feel sick. But that’s all it was: some utter idiot thinking that angel blood was more useful than the fucking creature it came from – because surely they would have thought to _keep_ the angel as opposed to killing it? Dean wasn’t saying it was _right_ to keep an angel as a pet, because Cas was basically the same as a human in terms of wants and needs, but it would have been way more sensible than _murdering_ them. 

Maybe angel blood did have healing properties. Maybe it didn’t. The point was, it didn’t belong to anyone other than the angel, and there’s a good fucking reason as to why the transaction is banned. Dean didn’t even know how many angels were left in America, having been told that the majority fled shortly before the Union actually came to a decision of banning the bleeding process, but Cas had to be pretty fucking brave to stay through it all. Especially since the law had only been passed a few years ago.

Dean threw the bag into the corner beside the old refrigerator before seating himself on the now bare island, resting his face in his hands again. 

He hated how conflicted his thoughts were, wanting to be selfish and stay with Sam, whilst his other half knew they couldn’t risk things like that. It hadn’t had anything to do with Cas’ health before, but letting Cas live had slowly become a priority – a priority just as important as keeping himself alive. It all came back down to the legal aspects, but he'd never realised just how brutal the actual procedure was. He’d known about the drip feeds and the actual draining part, but he’d never seen how it had to be set up.

But back to the problem at hand, at this rate, there was no real way he could stay with Sam. Taking Sam with him wasn’t an option – more so considering the fact that he hardly had any money, and no place to stay, and he wasn’t gonna risk Sam’s health when he would have only just gotten well again. No, he’d still be able to keep in contact so long as Sam kept a hold of his phone, and it wasn’t like Dean hadn’t taken care of himself before. With his abilities it wouldn’t be difficult to steal food and find temporary shelter. He didn’t necessarily have to hunt to make money – hell, the only real reason he’d have to make money was if he actually _had_ to pay for those kind of things, so that was definitely one less thing to worry about.

And there was visiting. So long as he knew where Sam and his dad were, he could stop by without John noticing.

Obviously it wasn’t the best way to go about living his life, but as soon as he had a more suitable method to keep himself housed, things could go back to normal. Once John realised that Sam was better, things would be fine, and yes, it might take him a while before he understood Dean’s reasoning behind it, but it wasn’t like Dean was doing it to spite him. He was being sensible; not weak or pathetic. He was saving them.

 

 

 

*

It was around midday when Dean finally thought it a good idea to check up on the angel again, having tidied up anything remotely dangerous from the upper floor so Cas couldn’t throw anything too damaging at him later on. He didn’t know whether Cas would actually want to hang around with him until that time, or whether he’d prefer to stay on his own, but Dean was preparing for either scenario so things were as safe as possible.

He'd also _k_ _ind_ _of_ managed to fix his phone after being so damn stupid before, even if the screen had cracked and the back wouldn't fit back onto the model anymore. He knew he'd need it later, and so he could memorize Sam's number before the battery died. He was kind of ashamed for not knowing it off by heart yet because it should have been compulsory all along, but it wouldn't be too difficult. It would be the only number he'd _want_ to remember.

Cas had moved slightly, laying on his back with a hand over his chest, which still didn’t look very comfortable. Dean knew he could have at least given Cas a pillow or something, what with the awkward positioning of his neck, and concrete floor was hardly a mattress.

Okay, now he was feeling worse about letting the asshole sleep on the floor, but it wasn’t as if Cas would be as accepting of anything Dean gave him. He’d turned away food, and as far as Dean knew, he hadn’t even used the blanket, so there wasn’t actually any point in offering.

He walked over to where the guy was laying, crouching down so he could examine the wound on Castiel’s throat. All that seemed to remain was dried blood and a faint redness to the skin, almost like it had only just started chaffing. It really was interesting to see the guy heal himself, and he had already considered filming it on his cell phone to prove to his dad that angels really could heal. Maybe it wasn’t healing someone else, but after the way Castiel acted before, he had next to no doubt regarding whether healing someone else was possible for the guy. It just all came down to whether or not the angel actually _wanted_ to.

His eyes went to Cas’ face when the guy’s head jerked, taking in the furrowed brow and the sheen on his forehead; a look of real pain that he recognized as similar to that of Sam’s fevers, but since Cas could heal illness and stuff, did that mean it was something else?

Dean reached out cautiously, pressing the backs of his fingers to Cas’ right temple, but Cas wasn’t burning up or anything. He was a little cold maybe, but Dean couldn’t exactly do anything about that. It was worrying him though, because Cas looked like he was really in pain, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the fact that his back hadn’t healed yet, so it could have gotten infected or something, even if Cas was healing himself.

Dean shook Castiel’s shoulder abruptly because he couldn’t do anything to help with Cas unconscious, more so when he didn’t have the angel’s permission to actually touch the wound.

But he didn’t expect Cas to fly up straight away and fucking _head butt_ him.

“Fuck!” Dean grunted, letting go of Castiel’s shoulders to press a palm to the aching part of his head. He tried to brush it off, meeting Castiel’s stare and frowning at the worsened expression of agony. Agony soon turned to fear, and Dean stilled, watching an assortment of emotions cross Castiel’s features.

It was pretty fucking obvious as to why Cas was staring at him with a look of absolute terror.

“I-I’m not gonna hurt you, Cas. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Dean said softly, genuinely surprised that Cas hadn’t even told him to fuck off or anything yet given the situation before. He’d at least expected Cas to make some sort of remark on their closeness, or even tried to push him away, but instead Castiel simply stared. Like, completely frozen, and Dean didn’t know whether that was because he was scared or because he knew that trying to hurt Dean would only rebound, but seriously: the staring was starting to creep Dean out.

“Look, dude, it’s important that you tell me if you’re okay or not – especially when I can do something to help,” he added, looking pointedly to the side of Castiel’s shirt where the blood stain had seeped across. He watched the way one of Castiel’s hands twitched toward it, and Dean wondered if sitting up so abruptly had made it any worse. 

But Castiel still refused to talk, and Dean didn’t know what to do. He knew starting with an apology was a good idea if Cas was planning on giving him the silent treatment for being an utter dick before, but that was to be expected because he was probably totally confused by everything going on right now. Dean had essentially led him to believe that now he was going to die, and how the hell could he go on to explain the misunderstanding behind that when it had been the reason why Dean had thrown him back in the basement to begin with? It wasn’t as simple as asking for his help again because Cas most likely didn’t trust him at all after that.

He sighed, sitting down properly to rest his chin in his hands with his elbows balanced on his knees, thinking up someway he could start off his explanation. This was the part he hadn’t been prepared for. Everything else – the plan; when Cas could be on his merry way – had all been taken care of. Right now he just needed to convince Castiel to trust him again.

“Right, well, apparently I’ve got your attention anyway, so while I do I wanna apologise for everything that happened before. I was … I was pissed off at my dad, and I took my anger out on you, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong,” he rambled, meeting Castiel’s line of sight again, even though it was a little more difficult what with the way Cas seemed to be examining him rather than simply staring. Dean tried to ignore the way Cas was looking at him altogether, concentrating more on what he needed to say to make sure Cas understood that he wasn’t in anyway screwing him over.

“I mean, that’s hardly an explanation, I get it, but I was being selfish and I guess I sorta gave you the wrong impression of what was gonna happen. Ummm … you’re going home, okay? Tomorrow, anyway. You can go home tomorrow.” He swallowed, rubbing at the back of his neck when Castiel continued to stare at him, unmoving. “Cas, could you actually let me know that you’ve acknowledged what I’ve said, ‘cos the whole staring thing is really off putting, and I don’t really want to go into details if you’re not even gonna pay attention.”

But Castiel stayed quiet, holding Dean’s gaze like he’d be risking his life if he looked away, and Dean couldn’t help but feel nervous, unsure of what the hell he could do whilst Cas refused to pass comment. He reached out carefully, poking him lightly in the chest and lowering his voice. “Earth to Castiel. You listening to me?”

He smiled timidly when Castiel pushed his hand away, practically breathing out a ‘don’t touch me’, not once looking away. Dean had expected something a little more aggressive  because there was no way Cas could have forgiven him after _that._ Hell, Dean wouldn’t have even forgiven himself. It was a piss poor attempt at an apology, and he hadn’t even finished yet. There were parts of the plan that Dean hadn’t quite figured out yet – like when his dad would actually leave the motel – but he needed to explain to Cas the set time scale they’d have before John figured out what Dean had done.

“Can you please stop with the staring then? I mean, I didn’t come down here to be analysed. I came down to talk.”

“I have no desire to talk to you,” Castiel practically whispered, looking away almost in embarrassment, if the flush on his face was anything to go by. Instead, Cas looked down to the bracelet, touching at the metal with nimble fingers while Dean tried to form a sentence that wouldn’t end up making him seem like a total d-bag.

“I get that you’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be, but I need you to cooperate with me here.”

“Cooperate?!” Castiel spat, and Dean almost breathed a sigh of relief at the regularity of Castiel’s tone; no more of that dazed and dreary attempt at speech, but something similar to his asshole self’s usual manner. “I’ve been as cooperative as fucking possible! I mean, I don’t even know what the fuck’s going on right now, because one minute you’re telling me we’ve got a deal, the next you’re forcing me back in the basement with no explanation! Was it so difficult for you to explain things then that you had to abuse and then abandon me with the impression that I was going to be fucking _murdered?!”_

Dean took in a sharp breath, nodding in understanding. "Okay, uhhh ..." He swallowed thickly, looking down to his crossed legs as he picked at the frayed denim of his jeans. "Well for starters, I didn't mean to hurt you like that. Like I said, I kind of took my anger out on you and I really shouldn't have because it wasn't your fault. I just ... fuck, I mean, I know my dad's doing what he thinks is right, but he just kept bullshitting me with all this crap on angel blood and it was just this point blank refusal to listen to _anything_ I had to say." Dean tore at the material, ripping the rough fabric to distract himself. "But he told me if I didn't do what he asked, I can't go home, so uhh ..." He forced a laugh, feeling the burn in his nostrils. "Guess I'm not going home."

The frown was pulling on the corners of his mouth, and he continued to stare down at the torn fabric of his jeans, the prickling in his eyes forcing him to cover his face with his hands, because there was no damn way he was crying in front of anyone. He didn't waste any time teleporting out of the room and landing on his feet outside the cabin, dropping back to the ground as soon as he was sturdy to lean back against the log wall.

He bit his lip when the tears ran to his palms, bringing his knees up to his chest to give him that sense of security as he let himself come undone.

Why the fuck was it so easy to think about, yet when he went to discuss it he had a fucking breakdown? He'd figured things out - he knew how to take care of himself - so there was no need for this _panic_ or whatever he could class it as. He'd known he was taking a risk from the moment he decided he would definitely follow this path, but it had never seemed as intimidating as this. 

But there was no way he could go back on it now. He was determined to make sure everyone got out of this safely - most importantly: Sam - and he couldn't afford for Cas to think him weak at a time like this. He needed to keep things under control - more so since he hadn't even explained everything to the angel yet, abandoning the guy because he'd gotten emotional for no fucking reason. No, he needed to get his shit together and get the conversation over with.

The sooner that happened, the sooner he could get that fucking wound on Cas' back looked at, because it was seriously pissing him off how Cas was fine leaving it open to a Goddamn infection. He didn't care if Cas could heal himself - Dean wasn't saving the angel's sorry ass just for the guy to continue leaving his wounds uncared for.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel pulled out one of the pink packets he recognized as an antiseptic wipe, smirking at the yellow cat drawn on he front. He ripped open the top, pulling out the folded square as he dropped the empty packet to the ground, resting the wipe with the contents of the box as he reached around to unravel the bandages beneath his shirt. It stung as they were peeled from his skin, but he dropped them to the floor in front of him when he was done, wincing as his blood-crusted shirt flopped back against the wound. He wasted no time pulling the shirt off, staring down at the dampened fabric before balling it up in his hands.

Green.

All around him, the same colour – the same shade. Everything.

Green.

The child stood in the centre of the garish prison, features blurred with his eyes as bright as the background, crying out the same plea for help – the help Castiel could never offer.

That same strangled voice echoed off the walls of his mind.

There was warmth around him, pressing in on his form. His own cries were soundless, nothing but mute screams as the heat swallowed him whole, the child begging for someone to aid them as Castiel was drowned in the hot sea of burning _green_.

He shot up in bed; pain exploding in his skull as someone cursed in pain, and suddenly the memories came flooding back.

He was not in bed. It was very far from his home.

And he was going to _die_.

His vision spun as he tried to focus on the character before him; fully aware of whom it would be before such a thing came about, and he grimaced, pushing the musty blanket from his chest in an attempt to rid himself of the cover. It only reminded him again of the falseness the boy had demonstrated, leading him on with ideas of freedom to provide him with hope, few bizarre acts that had suggested kindness, only to rip them away and replace the hope with terror.

But he was provided with a new kind of terror altogether when he finally acknowledged the boy in front of him, his blood running cold and a nauseous sensation rising in his chest at the sight.

All he could focus on was the green.

It wasn’t simply a case of saying that this was just a coincidence, because although there were many shades of that colour, Castiel had dreamt of _one_ shade in particular for the past four years.

And now his nightmare had merged with reality.

He felt like he was going to be sick, knowing that even though this could all be a trick of the lighting, or even that it was his mind _wanting_ him to see that shade in particular, the demon’s eyes hadn’t miraculously changed colour during the time they’d been apart. Castiel had noticed it before: the abnormality of a demon possessing green eyes, and from the first time he’d recognized such a disfiguration, he’d also thought he’d recognized the boy from somewhere before because of his eyes alone. It was the demonic factor that really set things apart though, because this child was the first demon Castiel had ever encountered that possessed eyes so very bright, and although there were millions of others in the world that could potentially possess the same irregularity, Castiel very much doubted they’d be of the same exact shade as the demon before him.

He tried to dispel the thoughts, seeking excuses and flaws to oppose such a possibility. For starters, the character in his nightmare was featureless aside from the glowing green irises, and the age of the child itself also played part. The demon holding him captive was in his late teens, and the character in Castiel’s dreams was young – the pitch of his voice determined an age of around twelve, if not a little earlier – but then again, couldn’t that be all they were? A character in his mind? He’d known that it could have all been a figment of his imagination – he _wanted_ it to be – but he was just so alarmed by recent events that he _just didn’t know_!

Part of him had always wanted to figure out the meaning and identity of the person in his mind, but to pin it all on one demon purely because of the child’s abnormality was stupid. It really could be nothing more than fiction.

“… it’s important that you tell me if you’re okay or not – especially when I can do something to help,” the demon was mumbling, and Castiel finally paid attention to what was being said, having not even realised the demon had been talking to him in the first place. The boy was looking down as if attempting to spy out Castiel’s injury, not even attempting to be subtle about it, and Castiel pulled the clothing closer around him in order to make it harder for the fabric to be raised. He didn’t want to show anyone his injuries, let alone someone as freakish and disturbing as the boy. Not when they could only do more harm than good.

He continued to stare at the demon’s eyes, wondering what kind of defect was the reason behind the colour, and how they got to the exact shade Castiel had been dreaming of. _Had_ they met before? There had to be _something_ that had been the instigator for the colour in his dreams if this wasn’t reality, because for a match like that, there had to be a root.

“Right, well, apparently I’ve got your attention anyway, so while I do, I wanna apologise for everything that happened before. I was … I was pissed off at my Dad, and I took my anger out on you, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong,” the demon continued, making more doubts twist with Castiel’s worry. He was struggling to understand exactly what was going on. It was like the earlier events were repeating themselves and he was being encouraged to believe yet more lies – lies from someone whose appearance was equally suspicious as the words he spoke.

“I mean, that’s hardly an explanation, I get it, but I was being selfish and I guess I sorta gave you the wrong impression of what was gonna happen. Ummm … you’re going home, okay? Tomorrow, anyway. You can go home tomorrow …”

Castiel stopped listening after that, running the demon’s words over and over in his head to extract the lies buried within. There was no way the boy would simply choose to let him go just like _that_! After the way the demon had gone about abusing him earlier, Castiel didn’t believe what was being said. He knew that demons were twisted and nasty, but for the child to torment and hurt him when it wasn’t even necessary – when Castiel would have complied and listened, and done as he was asked knowing he was safe from the bleeding process – had a heat twisting in his chest; an anger he’d do nothing to conceal should the demon continue to treat him like a pathetic and harmless being.

He attempted to control his rage when the boy poked him, trying not to lose the boys stare as he examined the child’s features, looking for any hint of falseness that the boy had yet to mask.

“Don’t touch me.”

The demon’s eyes widened at this, the green almost glowing with some sort of surprise, and Castiel willed those kind of thoughts away, not wanting to waste any more time pondering ridiculous theories as to the relevance of his dreams when they could mean absolutely nothing at all. Such thoughts were dire, and regardless of whether the demon was the one from his dreams or not, Castiel would still refuse to help anymore than he had already promised.

“Can you please stop with the staring then? I mean, I didn’t come down here to be analysed. I came down to talk.”

“I have no desire to talk to you,” he told the boy, looking off to the side. He couldn’t _believe_ how weak his voice sounded – his throat dry from dehydration – and he felt the heat creep over his skin, knowing that the demon would only mock him for his pathetic state. After all, it was the demon making him this way, forming some sort of feminine bracelet on his wrist to take the place of the collar, and although Castiel was grateful for the loss of the heavy weight around his neck, he still hated that the boy thought it necessary to keep such a ridiculous hierarchy in place. If anything, Castiel should have been the one with a power control, given his age and maturity. The boy was an idiot, and would probably manipulate him further if things didn’t go to his plan.

He looked to the bracelet, twisting it around his wrist as he examined it for any weaknesses. He recognized two of the four sigils carved into the steel: one that prevented him from exceeding some sort of doorway, either the hatch of the basement or the front door he guessed, and another that essentially controlled his actions should the demon consider him out of line.

Now that he could see where the sigils were, it wouldn’t be difficult at all to remove them.

“I get that you’re still pissed off, and you have every right to be, but I need you to cooperate with me here.”

Castiel didn’t bother compressing his anger any longer, because that statement alone had him wishing he could slam the boy’s head down against the concrete floor repetitively. He’d cooperated. He’d _trusted_. He’d made a deal to ensure his safety and _still_ he’d been treated like he didn’t deserve _respect_.

He didn’t know the half of what he ended up shouting at the boy, but it blatantly got his message across. The demon had a glazed look in his eye, his skin lightly flushed as if what Castiel said had made him uncomfortable, but he received a nod in what he could only assume was understanding before the boy gave him yet another half-assed apology, laced with family issues and something along the lines of a residential crisis before the demon fucked off again, abandoning him in the basement once more.

Castiel wanted to scream. He wanted to cancel the deal solely so he could smash the demon’s fucking face in, because he didn’t care if the boy was putting it on or not. He didn’t care if the demon was giving up everything, because Castiel was _sick_ of being lied to and mistreated purely because of his angelic heritage. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be manipulated or even spoken to as if he were a lesser creature, and he most certainly wasn’t going to offer comfort to someone who’d offered no sympathies before.

The demon had been the one to make the decision to leave home. Castiel hadn’t forced him to do anything, so there was no way in hell that he would allow himself to be guilt-tripped into offering more than they’d dealt.

He got to his feet, not wanting to wait around for the _one_ conversation he actually cared about, and he walked briskly over to the stairwell, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the concrete floor only making him feel smaller, even if the space confining him was of a moderate size.

He climbed the steps, surprised to find the hatch readily open, and he pulled himself up cautiously, pleased to find no barrier in place to keep him trapped in the basement. There was a faint pressure, quite possibly from an earlier spell cast on the wood, but it didn’t weaken him in any way so he ignored it.

The demon’s absence was in no way alarming, and Castiel grimaced as he straightened up in posture, craning his neck to examine the blood stain on the back of his shirt and frowning further at the new dampness that had begun to soak through. He’d worsened the condition of the wound when he’d sat up before, and even though he was numbing the pain with his Grace, there was still a certain stinging sensation surrounding the injury. He didn’t want to waste all of his energy on his own injuries when he would only be expected to heal someone else, and he still hadn’t been informed of the severity of such an illness so he didn’t know how much Grace he’d actually require. It would be very unfortunate if he went to heal them and end up unable – especially when that would most likely result in him appearing as if a liar, the deal abandoned as some other demon bled him out instead. He wanted to get out of this alive, and if it meant putting up with the same irritable pain for a further twenty-four hours, then he would endure it.

Castiel began another examination of the upper floor rooms, having not seen everything in such clear lighting, but it was more than obvious that the instruments for the bleeding process had been put away elsewhere and Castiel didn’t deny himself of the immense satisfaction merely knowing that the boy truly didn’t intend harm. The weight he felt in his chest was considerably less prominent, even if there was still worry surrounding his thoughts. He understood that the demon was going against orders and he couldn’t help but think it an incredibly stupid decision to make, even if it did benefit himself greatly.

The boy had made a choice all too fast, having not even asked Castiel to demonstrate his ability beforehand – not that he felt up to it now. A bullet wound would only make things more difficult later on, and he didn’t particularly want to be damaged further, even if he had offered aid before. That had been before the demon had fucked him over, and also before he’d been made aware of _when_ the healing would take place. A day was hardly enough time to recover, and anyway, as he’d considered before: he had no plans to aid the boy.

He wasn’t simply going to allow himself to be passed around like a box of bandaides. It _hurt_ to heal people. And if the demon was going to continually treat him like shit, Castiel sure as hell wouldn’t show him any kind of empathetic attention.

Castiel ignored the sound of the front door swinging open, touching at the ornaments resting on the mantle cautiously. There were several of the bizarre little statues that looked as if hand-carved, and Castiel didn’t think it fair of him to damage them, intentionally or not. They were incredibly intricate – very detailed in terms of the animalistic features, and Castiel could only assume that a lot of time had gone into their making.

“My uncle showed me how to make those,” the boy commented quietly from he doorway, and Castiel nodded to show his listening, in spite of the abrupt lack of interest in the small carvings upon hearing it.

“I assume you’ve calmed down now,” Castiel inquired, stepping back to look toward the kitchen.

He could hear the boy let out a heavy breath and he rolled his eyes, knowing just how simple it would be for a child his age to feign further upset.

“Yeah, dude. Sorry for ditching you again.”

Castiel shrugged, starting back in the direction of the basement steps, keen to avoid as much eye contact as possible. “Are we going to discuss this promise of yours then?”

He made no effort to add warmth to his tone, completely abandoning the idea of treating the boy with any sort of kindness. It would be fruitless after all, if the demon was only going to betray him again.

“Uh, yes. Yeah, sure … ummm … what, uhh, what do you want to know?”

There was something about the demon’s speech that had him stalling and rethinking his own manner of communication, confused by how the demon was conversing. There was almost a softness to his tone – a _nervousness_ – that alerted Castiel to a slight slip in the hierarchy.

He looked back over his shoulder, taking in the slightly red eyes and flushed cheeks, even if it didn’t particularly faze him. He’d seen children in hysterics over what they’d witnessed, and a boy his age – especially a hunter – should know by now that crying in front of an enemy was a more prominent display of weakness, hence the frequent manipulation demonstrated by the younger hunters out on the field, making such a weakness a tactic instead.

What Castiel was witnessing _wasn’t_ a tactical display. He’d feigned enough when he was younger to know how it worked in terms of attention-seeking and distraction, but this wasn’t the first time the demon had spoken to him with that same nervous air. He’d already identified the boy’s discomfort around him; his stance and his speech were the more obvious giveaways, what with the way the boy neither spoke to him with a dominance nor kept still around him, constantly fidgeting and mumbling because his father had clearly thrown him into an alien environment with next to no instructions on how to handle the situation.

“I want to know everything,” he stated calmly, turning around so he could look at the demon properly, running his eyes over the bullet wound that was _still_ bleeding through the kid’s shirt.

“Well, I don’t know the _exact_ time my dad’ll be leaving, but I was gonna speak to my brother and ask him to phone or something when he does,” the boy stated, running a hand down his face shakily, closing his eyes. “I-I mean, I know it’s pretty shit of me to not know, but it’ll be fine. I won’t let him hurt you if he does show up.”

“That’s reassuring,” Castiel muttered, leaning against a nearby beam. He urged the front door to slam shut when the boy began to walk toward him, making the demon jump and glare at the door as if it had personally offended him. “Has he got any sort of ability that I should be made aware of?”

The boy faced him again, keeping in the same spot as he cast another glance back at the door. “No. No, the only thing he’ll be able to hurt you with is a shotgun, and I can deflect that, so you’ll be safe.”

Castiel snorted, picking at the splintered wood with his fingernails. “You didn’t deflect anything when I shot you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a gun.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smirk, his gaze flicking to the demon momentarily. “That’s because you’re an idiot. It’s stupid to go anywhere without some sort of defence.” He pushed at his hair when it fell onto his forehead, his frown returning. “Is that it then? Your plan for tomorrow?” He pressed, raising his arms above his head as he rested his full weight against the beam. He couldn’t help but wince at the pull on his back, but it felt good to stretch the rest of his muscles after so long. What didn’t feel good, however, was the stiff fabric that caught on his bandages, and he quickly dropped his arms back down to his sides so that they couldn’t drag up anymore.

The boy cleared his throat, scuffing the floor with his feet a little. “Well, I’ll take you to the motel, and when you’re done healing my brother, I’ll drop you back home so –”

“No! No way in hell!” Castiel interrupted, pulling at the base of his shirt so it fell into place properly. “I don’t want you anywhere _near_ my home!”

“But you said using your powers made you weak. I just thought –”

“That doesn’t mean I need a chaperone! I’ll find a car if I need to, but there’s no way I’m letting a demon find out where I live,” Castiel stressed, turning away to walk toward the kitchenette. “So thanks, but no. I’ll make my own way back.”

He could hear the demon follow him through the room, and he grimaced when the boy took hold of his wrist.

“Look, I know you hate me, but is there anywhere else I can take you if you’re not comfortable with that? I don’t want to go through all this and then have you bump into my dad on the way back,” the demon persisted. “He knows what you look like, and your glowing thing isn’t exactly subtle to us – to any demon, I mean. Do you really want to risk any of them hurting you?”

Castiel met the boy’s stare pointedly, snatching his arm free. He was beginning to regret his own honesty before, more so since the boy was essentially blackmailing him. Castiel didn’t want an escort – especially when they were someone of the demonic nature – but he knew that depending on the strength of the illness he had to heal, he was at risk of being more vulnerable.

“Montana,” he murmured, pushing the boy in the chest to put some distance between them. He was surprised when the deal didn’t repel his actions, but it only alerted him to the fact that the demon was probably aware of what had just happened, and Castiel faced away abruptly, annoyed with his inability to even _want_ to harm the boy.

“Is that all you’re gonna give me? The name of a state?” The demon asked, and Castiel could hear the smile to his voice, making him cringe.

“The border between Idaho and Montana is as close as you’re going,” he grunted, scowling at the boy when he felt the shadow touch at his ankle. He kicked it away, once more irritated by the lack of reaction instigated by the deal.

“Do you want me to punch you in the face?” He snarled when the boy repeated it again, apparently testing the boundaries.

“You can try. Not sure how effective it’ll be.”

Castiel stomped on the shadow the next time it touched at his calf, whirling on the boy and forcing him up against the island in the kitchen.

“Don’t push it!”

The boy grinned at him, leaning back on his elbows almost in a state of mockery, and Castiel shoved at him harshly as he turned away, not failing to miss the sharp intake of breath from being knocked back against the hard surface. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but he’d found himself able to injure the demon several times now, even with the deal in place. Part of him wanted to risk genuinely punching the boy, but he didn’t want the damage to recoil if it worked as usual, so rather than harming him, he encouraged one of the kitchen drawers to fly open when the demon came relatively close.

He watched when the boy doubled over from the impact of the drawer to his hip, not bothering to hide his amusement upon seeing the expression on the boy’s face. There was nothing wrong with the treatment. Castiel simply wanted space, something he was entitled to. He merely hadn’t anticipated the boy to be as perpetually irritating as he was.

“Can you leave me alone now?” He asked, lifting himself onto the countertop and crossing his legs. He didn’t care if it was unsanitary or anything of the sort. He wasn’t going to be eating anything made here.

“Why are you being mean?” The boy pouted, and Castiel frowned, pushing a hand against the boy’s forehead to keep him at bay when he tried to walk around again.

“I’m not being mean. You’re being annoying.”

“That’s bullshit,” the demon grumbled. “I’m a Goddamn joy to be around.”

Castiel cracked a smile as he shoved at the boy’s head again. “Just go away.”

“Can’t we talk or something? I don’t want to sit around doing nothing till tomorrow.”

“No. I’m tired, and you’re an asshole,” Castiel sighed, tipping his head back so it rested against the cupboards. He’d hardly gotten any sleep before and his back was burning again. He really was starting to consider cleaning the wound whilst he remained here, just to make things less painful. “And you still haven’t phoned whoever it was to arrange tomorrow. I’d prefer it if you didn’t leave such a task until last minute.”

“Oh _shit_!” The demon blundered, turning around abruptly as he pulled out his phone. Castiel took that opportunity to slide down from the counter, slinking toward the basement hatch so he could retrieve the medical supplies whilst the boy was kept busy.

It was far colder on the lower floor, something Castiel hadn’t acknowledged earlier, but he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to stay in the basement permanently. He let his gaze wander as he made his way down the few remaining steps, glancing about the room and eyeing up the stale food abandoned on the tray. He couldn’t help but wonder if it really had been tampered with in the first place, not that he would have eaten something composed of ground up pigs’ anuses and artificial flavouring.

He ignored the food, making his way over to the med box and crouching down to open it up. He hadn’t expected it to have been as utterly packed as it was, so used to scavenging the remains of medical supplies, but now he felt like he had everything at his disposal: dissolvable threads, morphine shots, rolls of gauze and bandages – half the stuff looked as if it belonged in a hospital, not a fucking first aid kit that probably cost around ten dollars!

Castiel pulled out one of the pink packets he recognized as an antiseptic wipe, smirking at the yellow cat drawn on he front. He ripped open the top, pulling out the folded square as he dropped the empty packet to the ground, resting the wipe with the contents of the box as he reached around to unravel the bandages beneath his shirt. It stung as they were peeled from his skin, but he dropped them to the floor in front of him when he was done, wincing as his blood-crusted shirt flopped back against the wound. He wasted no time pulling the shirt off, staring down at the dampened fabric before balling it up in his hands.

“So –”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” Castiel blurted, spinning around abruptly as he hugged his shirt to his chest. “Don’t _do that_!”

 The demon grinned at him, rocking back on his heels. “What’cha doing?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, dropping his shirt to pick up the antiseptic wipe again, looking over his shoulder as he started to clear the blood from his skin. “It’s pretty fucking obvious what I’m doing,” he ground out, hissing when he added a bit too much pressure to the nearest gash.

“You want me to do that?”

“No. I’m perfectly capable,” Castiel huffed, glancing at the boy briefly when he heard the demon approach him. "I'd actually prefer it if you left whilst I do this."

He couldn't help but frown when the demon blatantly ignored him, dropping down to a cross-legged position no more than a foot away.

"I don't feel comfortable with you watching," he continued, tossing the antiseptic wipe to the side and grimacing at the blood staining his fingers. It made opening another packet all the more difficult. "So can you leave me alone? I want to be able to concentrate."

"I-I want to help," the demon mumbled as Castiel ripped the packet open with his teeth, pulling out another of the wipes to clean the torn tissue closest to his ribs.

"How adorable," Castiel muttered, slapping the boy's hand away when it reached for the medical kit. The deal did reflect the actions this time, and Castiel swore as the sharp pain stabbed his palm. He glared at the demon when he began to laugh, the impulse to punch him growing ever stronger.

"Don't look at me like that," the boy chuckled, shoving at his head. "It's not my fault you're so aggressive."

Castiel scowled, holding the wipe to his wound when he felt more blood touch at his fingers, sending another short burst of energy toward the injury to make his blood clot faster. He wasn't aggressive. He was annoyed. The boy was following him around and tormenting him when he  _knew_ Castiel didn't want company. He didn't know how he could be any clearer about wanting to be left alone because he'd said as much _several fucking times_!

"So, werewolf, right? That's what ripped into you like that?" The boy pressed, resting his chin in a palm. Castiel could feel the stare trained on him without even having to look, not that he  _wanted_ to give the boy his full attention, so all he did was nod, focusing more intently on his wound.

It actually made him feel a little sick to know that the boy could recognize such an injury, meaning that he'd either been hurt in the same way once before, or he'd been involved in a case dangerous enough to have seen it happen to someone else. Even when Castiel had been his age he hadn't taken on the challenge of hunting werewolves, what with it essentially being a suicide mission to take down a pack. The only reason he took the more recent job was because of the higher pay, but thinking about it now, it wasn't even worth it. He could have hunted two arachne and still been paid the same.

He was actually beginning to think that the boy's father didn't care about his safety at all if he was taking the kid on such brutal hunts. Even this - the whole babysitting thing or whatever they could class it as - shouldn't have been an order for a teenager, not that this was the sort of hunt  _anyone_ should have been getting involved with, but still: Castiel had come close to killing the boy before. If he hadn't been as sympathetic as he was, the child would have died.

"I'm sorry, Cas."

Castiel looked up at this, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

"I said I'm  _sorry_. For like, laughing at your pain and stuff."

"Uhhh, okay," Castiel said slowly, watching the boy pout again. "Freak."

"I'm not a freak! I'm trying to be nice!"

"Of course you are."

"No, I'm serious! I know I probably annoyed you before, but -"

"Still annoying me," Castiel interjected, pulling the wipe away from his back carefully. "Still very much annoying me."

"Christ - all I did was offer help!" The boy scowled.

"I am an  _adult_. I don't require the help of a delinquent, let alone someone who can barely dress their own wounds," he chortled, pushing his hair away from his eyes with his free hand. He looked down at the bloodied cloth, frowning at the fresh blood that shouldn't have been there. He hadn't expected there to have been as much blood as this given the way it had been healing over the past four hours, irritated that a scab hadn't even formed over the injury because of the dampness.

"Okay, first of all, I haven't dressed my own wounds because I left the kit down here for  _you_ to use - so  _you_ wouldn't have to be in as much pain. I'm not  _incapable_ , and there's basically no way I can hurt you, so what the hell is your problem?" The boy shouted, snatching the wipe from his hands. "It'll literally take five minutes for me to clean your wound  _properly_ because I can actually  _see_ it. You let me do this, and I promise I'll leave you alone till we need to go tomorrow. Okay?"

Castiel threw one of the pink packets at the boy's chest before facing away completely, not wanting to have to look at the child whilst he went about it. He knew the boy was right in terms of caring for it properly, knowing full well that he himself would be unable to clean the new damage when he couldn't even see what he was doing. He still wasn't sure if he'd taken care of it properly the first time, but he'd been able to bathe so at least the skin surrounding the wound had been sufficiently cleaned of all dried blood.

He covered his face with his palms, letting out an exasperated breath at the first touch of the wipe to one of the gashes, his discomfort worsening when a hand settled on his shoulder to hold him steady. It was beginning to feel like the demon was belittling him through this controlling nature of his, and with the earlier treatment, Castiel was finding the boy's approach more than a little unsettling. 

What did put him at ease was the way the boy's hands practically shook with nerves, alerting him to the fact that the boy was nowhere  _near_ as confident as he made himself out to be. Castiel was still glad to hold that sort of control; even if it wasn't the exact quantity he was aspiring for, simply knowing that he'd be able to manipulate the child in his own way. Perhaps it wasn't fair, given the fact that the boy most likely hadn't been given a choice in terms of actually watching over Castiel, but the fact that the demon was somewhat frightened of him would definitely work to his advantage.

He stilled when the boy cleared his throat, turning his head a little out of common courtesy. "You got anyone waiting for you back home?"

Castiel pulled a face. "What? Like family?"

"Yeah," the boy said quietly, and Castiel looked over at him properly, taking in the frown and blatant disregard for eye contact which was fairly surprising given the near constant attention he'd recieved before.

"Is there any particular reason as to why you need to know?"

The blush slowly stained the boy's cheeks, and Castiel was on the verge of smirking at the sight, the corners of his mouth slinking upwards involuntarily,

"I wanted to know if they're hunters too - like mine. Ours is a family thing."

Castiel's smile slipped, curious as to what the boy was trying to say. He didn't look very well; aside from the flush, his skin was pale, and again there was the glazed look to his eyes. Castiel got the impression that the boy really had been forced into the hunting life, slightly irritated that the demon's father thought it a sensible option. In his own experience, Castiel had only looked for hunting as a means to earn his keep. If anything else had been available at the time he'd needed work - anything at all - he would have preferred such an option. Hunting was something he'd grown to despise.

"They're not," he murmured, wincing when the wipe was dabbed against the largest gash made in his side, clenching his jaw. 

"So you hunt alone then?" The demon queried, and Castiel rolled his shoulder beneath the boy's hold, glancing to his own hands that rested on his lap.

"I prefer it that way," he stated honestly, pushing at his bangs again. He wasn't going to break into details and inform the boy of the ulterior motives that usually accompanied the pairing of himself and someone else, namely because of the few that had been reasonably cooperative. And regardless, it was none of the boy's business. Castiel's answer was sufficient, and if the demon chose to pry, Castiel would simply ignore him. 

He didn't even  _want_ to talk to the child, but he understood that the demon clearly wasn't as used to being alone as Castiel was, and it wasn't exactly paining him to appease the boy with a few minutes of conversation. As soon as this was done, he could rest in the quiet of his own company. No more pointless questions to annoy him further.

There were certain things he could address during this time though - like why the boy had had a change of heart. Castiel wasn't an idiot. The demon had quite blatantly intended his death, but for him to suddenly give up a home and family, of all things, was yet another bold desicion the boy had made - one that should have encouraged him to act marginally more upset than he appeared, considering how he'd acted before in the kitchen. It brought his doubts back to the surface despite his earlier assumptions regarding the boy's emotions, and it had one question in particular gliding off his tongue thoughtlessly:

"Why are you giving up so much to aid me?" 

The boy's hand stilled, the wipe resting at an awkward angle against his wound, and he squirmed, shuffling forward a little so it didn't hurt as much.

“There are lots of reasons,” the demon said softly, before he was wiping around the injury again, not saying anything more.

“Go on then,” Castiel prompted, looking at him once more. “This is a first for me, so I’d like you to explain why you’d do something so selfless.”

The demon sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow as his cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink. “It’s not _entirely_ selfless. I mean, yeah: I didn’t _want_ to kill you, but I was still putting my brother’s needs first. If I’d done what my dad had asked, we would run the risk of execution, and that would defeat the whole purpose of healing Sam in the first place ‘cos he needs someone to look after him; so I figured that so long as my brother got healed, he’d still have my dad to take care of him without the threat of being hunted down and killed. So, I don’t know,” the demon shrugged, biting his lower lip. “I preferred this over setting you up in all those tubes and stuff.”

Castiel was surprised at the blatant honesty behind the words, pleased that he hadn’t been fed some sappy lie about ‘genuinely caring’ instead. It still bothered him that the boy’s father was apparently kicking him out for what seemed to be the more sensible option, especially since the demon was saving more than just one life through this choice.

“May I ask how old you are?”

“Sixteen,” the boy responded swiftly, and Castiel turned his body fully toward the boy, ignoring the drag of cloth over his injuries.

“You’re _sixteen_ and your father is kicking you out for effectively _saving him_?”

“See? _You_ get it! When I tried to tell _him_ that, he acted as if I was speaking another fucking language!” The demon frowned, balling the antiseptic wipe up in his other palm, the material pink from cleaning away blood.

“I just want him to understand.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy shrugged, hurriedly looking back down to the floor again, and Castiel scowled as he resumed his position, confused by the demon’s behaviour. As of yet, the boy had been continually differential, leaving Castiel unsure of how to interpret anything he did. Usually, analysing someone was simple, able to identify as to whether they were a direct threat or ultimately harmless, but with this child, he hadn’t the faintest idea.

Castiel waited patiently for the boy to calm down, changing his arrangement to that of a cross-legged position as he watched the frown on the demon’s face deepen. His eyes were watery, but his expression was stern, almost like he was attempting to take control of his emotions in the exact way he should have done earlier, but Castiel didn’t want to address that just yet, understanding that the situation the boy had found himself in wasn’t entirely fair.

It was bothering him really: the knowledge that a parent would willingly cast their child out purely because of their own ignorance. Even if the choice was indeed a stupid one, that shouldn’t mean it was acceptable to abandon someone who’d held the protection of his family in his best interest the entire time.

He didn’t care if the child was a demon. No one should be kicked out of their home for making a sensible decision – especially when they were so damn young!

And like the demon had said before: hunting was seemingly compulsory within the family. In no way was it fair for his father to essentially disown him when he had been the one to encourage the boy to hunt in the first place. The child had nothing to fall back on but hunting, and now he would have no home to keep him safe, all because his father had wanted to commit unnecessary murder.

Unless, of course, there was a reason as to why the demon’s father wished him dead; one that had nothing to do with the blood transaction, and if such a thing  _was_  true, it could possibly explain another of Castiel’s concerns.

“Have I met with him before?” He queried, his gaze fixated on the boy’s features. “Or you. Have I met with either of you before?”

The demon shook his head, keeping his eyes cast down to the ground. “I doubt it. Dad said the last time he met an angel was at least ten years ago.”

Castiel continued to stare, wondering if the demon before him inherited the same looks his father possessed. “That doesn’t rule out the possibility. Did he ever mention the case he worked?”

The boy glanced up with a ludicrous expression on his face. “Look, it couldn’t have been you, okay? Not unless you can come back from the dead.”

“Wonderful,” Castiel muttered, throwing another antiseptic wipe at the boy so he could finish up, before facing away with his chin in a palm, his free hand toying with the clasps on the medical kit in agitation. He didn’t want to accuse the boy’s father of murder, but that was most likely the outcome of such an encounter – especially when the intent in  _this_  situation had been just that.

But the fact that they hadn’t met before was unsettling him more than it had earlier, wanting to find some kind of excuse as to why the green had been imprinted in his nightmares. If he had no prior connection to the demon, then there had to be another reason as to why the colour he was seeing was so exact.

“Sorry.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, sighing. “Please just ... stop. Stop with the apologies. I'm getting kinda tired of it now.”

He waited for some kind of criticism in response, tipping his head to stare up at the ceiling as the quiet continued, not even the sound of the packet being torn open to break the silence.  _Before_  the demon had apologized for his mistakes, but now he was saying ‘sorry’ for something that hadn’t been his fault, and it was unneccessary.

It was stupid.

Castiel glanced back momentarily, frowning at the vacant appearance and the direct stare the boy greeted him with.

“What?”

The boy shrugged, hurriedly looking back down to the floor again, and Castiel scowled as he resumed his position, confused by the demon’s behaviour. As of yet, the boy had been continually differential, leaving Castiel unsure of how to interpret anything he did. Usually, analysing someone was simple, able to identify as to whether they were a direct threat or ultimately harmless, but with this child, he hadn’t the faintest idea. He was unlike any demon Castiel had met, in the sense of his apparent sensitivity and openness – neither of which seemed feigned. Obviously, lying was simple, and crying, with enough practice, could be forced as opposed to impulse; but Castiel had already clarified that nothing about the demon’s earlier distress was false, and even in this case – what seemed to be general discomfort overriding the demon’s previous bold and playful approach – was something of a genuine act. He understood that losing a home in addition to family had to have been difficult, more so because of the way Castiel had treated him in repayment to such a selfless decision, because yes: he did pity the boy. Leaving home should have been a choice – especially for someone who hadn’t even chosen this life for themselves.

“So you’d never met an angel before me?” He asked, leaning back on his palms as he looked up to the ceiling once more, figuring that he could stay that way until the demon actually bothered to continue cleaning his wound for him. “Bet I gave a great first impression of my race.”

He heard the boy take in a deep breath, and he closed his eyes, stretching out one of his legs to get more comfortable.

“To be honest, my dad told me you’d be more intimidating.”

Castiel stilled, pursing his lips. He knew the demon was nervous around him, but he’d never considered the fact that the boy had been told to  _expect_  something of him.

“So, you think I look weak?” Castiel pressed, understanding completely as to why the demon would think as such. Castiel’s diet had quiet blatantly affected his weight, so he wasn’t as bulky or large as the average hunter, but he always used his appearance to his advantage, knowing that people would continually deem him somewhat pathetic upon first glance.

“What? No,” the demon snorted, and Castiel reopened his eyes so he could look back over his shoulder, lost. “I was expecting someone … older, y’know?”

Castiel continued to stare, watching the boy’s face become slightly red.

He himself wasn’t particularly young – certainly not as young as the demon. There was at least seven years between them, if Castiel had worked it out correctly, but he hadn’t ever thought his age had been that important. Of course, youth was something that made a person appear more innocent and less of a culprit, but in Castiel's opinion, as of late, he hadn't at all considered it to have been relevant.

The demon continued to avoid his stare, and Castiel angled his body so his neck wasn’t so awkwardly positioned. “What exactly did your father say about me to give you that impression then?”

The boy rolled his lips between his teeth, eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's own momentarily. "Not much. He just talked about angels in general," the demon offered, dropping the old antiseptic wipe to the floor so he could open up the new packet. "But the stories he told us - about the angels he'd met with in the past - always made you guys sound like wise old men."

Castiel smiled, amused by the assumption, even if it was a rather stereotypical expectation. Castiel had met very few other angels, what with their low abundance in the country, but they'd never come across as wise. He often thought that his parents had  _tried_ to act that way, but mostly their words were shaped around humour and myths that Castiel had undoubtedly preferred.

The demon stopped trying to rip open the packet, looking up again with a furrowed brow and confusion reading all over his face. "Hey, you know your Grace; is that the thing that gives your blood healing properties? Dad said it was just the blood in general, but ..." The demon held up his hands, showing the blood that had rubbed off on his palms. "It hasn't done anything."

Castiel shook his head sympathetically, reaching for the demon's injured hand. "My blood doesn't  _have_  healing properties. It won't be able to help you."

He was surprised by the lack of hesitancy on the boy's part, letting Castiel handle him without even asking what was going on, but it made things far easier for him, able to turn fully toward the boy again, touching at the tiny marks made earlier on that day before laying his free hand over the child's upturned palm. The skin was sticky, but it wasn't as if Castiel's hands were any better, dried blood caking his fingers from his poor attempt at cleaning his wound before.

"Well this should be interesting," he murmured, sending forward a pulse of energy tentatively. The boy didn't react, so Castiel began to draw the power back, absorbing the minor damage to clear the flesh of harm.

"W-wait, have you even done this before?" The demon blurted, and Castiel looked up at him, grinning.

"Oh great. So I'm an experiment then?"

"A very important experiment," Castiel chuckled, looking back down to the boy's palm, dragging a finger over the healed skin. "Ta da."

He pulled back, using a small amount of Grace to relieve himself of the minute injuries, flexing his fingers as the pain disappeared. It hadn't required much energy at all, so Castiel was pleased he'd been able to both prove his ability and take away some of the demon's wounds in the process.

"Thank you," the demon said softly, and Castiel waved it away, making himself comfortable. He pulled the medical kit closer, rummaging through it again to find a roll of bandages that was wide enough to allow him to use less, even if he shouldn't have been concerned about wasting someone else's supplies anyway.

"I'm surprised, actually," Castiel started, measuring up the width of the bandage against his fingers as the demon moved behind him again. "The demons I know definitely don't see my kind as 'wise' or anything of the sort."

He could remember the first time a demon other than Crowley had found out about his lack of education, back when he was around the same age as the boy; pinned to the wall by two larger hunters as he was forced to read out some kind of handwritten note, the others in the bar laughing at his inability to pronounce the words.

The fact that he hadn't even known what it was he'd been reading until later on still made him feel ill to this day, getting the bar keeper to read it to him after the hunters had let him be. Very few people knew of his childhood, but to have it mocked and ridiculed when there was absolutely nothing humorous about it had him feeling even more insecure around those he was expected to work with.

"Do a lot of demons bother you about it then? The whole being an angel thing?" The boy queried, pressing what Castiel could only assume was the new antiseptic wipe to the gouges on his back carefully.

He hummed in response, cocking his head to the side as the demon began to fumble a little. "The majority do. It's rare for a demon to meet me and not pass a comment on what I am, or what my use  _should_  be."

"What do you mean?"

Castiel frowned, holding himself still as the boy's hand was placed just above the injury. "It doesn't matter. It's not important."

"You wanna talk about something else then? I didn't mean to make things awkward," the demon spoke quickly, and Castiel sighed again, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. He still didn't understand the demon's apparent want to befriend him, but he certainly didn't want to explore the topic of angelic abuse, his mind jumping to the next subject he could think of rapidly.

"Did you sort everything out for tomorrow?" He asked, unravelling the bandages. "Your phone call didn't seem to last very long."

"Oh. No, I texted instead," the boy said simply, wiping around the torn flesh of Castiel's back for a final time before reaching over Castiel's shoulder to gently prise the bandage from his hold. Castiel felt the warm breath touch his cheek as the demon collected the soft material together in his hand, his voice far closer than before and lower in volume when he began talking again. "Means my dad won't be able to eavesdrop or anything."

"So you  _haven't_ sorted everything out," Castiel murmured, slightly discomforted with how close the demon was to him.

"Well, not exactly. No."

Castiel scowled, elbowing the demon in the ribs lightly. "You're hopeless."

The boy huffed out a laugh, dragging the bandage over Castiel's arm as he pulled back. "Shut up, Cas," he murmured, his breath touching at the top of Castiel's spine, making him shiver with unease.

" _Castiel,_ " he corrected, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He couldn't help but jolt in surprise when he felt the hand settle just above his left hip, pinning the bandage in place, and he frowned, waiting patiently as it was wound around his waist, deeming the gesture unnecessary in its entirety. Castiel could quite easily do it himself - it didn't require him to have a view of his own back because he  _knew_  where the injury was. He didn't need to see it to conceal it.

"I can take over now," he stated sullenly, catching hold of the boy's hand when it wrapped the bandage over his stomach again. "So thank you for helping, but I'm perfectly capable of doing this part by myself."

"Oh. Are you sure? I don't mind doing it."

"Yes, I'm sure," he replied, feeling the touch disappear from his side as the boy let go of the white material.

"Right. Okay," the demon mumbled, and Castiel glanced back, watching the boy rise to his feet. "I, uhhh ... I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement, looking down to the bandage as he wrapped it around himself, careful with the positioning over his back. He could hear the footsteps as the boy walked over to the doorway, glancing up when they came to an abrupt stop to find the boy lingering at the bottom of the stairwell, his head hung low like it had when the demon had stalled in such a way in the past.

He stared at the back of the boy's head until the demon turned around again, a slight smile on his face. Castiel smiled back briefly in confusion, his fingers losing their grip on the bandage for the few seconds he was distracted. "Is something wrong?" He asked, turning his focus back to what he was doing to make sure nothing moved out of place.

"Not really. It's just ... can we talk later? I mean, I know I promised to leave you alone, but we're gonna have to talk at some point anyway because my brother'll text back soon and you said you'd prefe -"

"Yeah. Whatever," Castiel grunted, smoothing down the bumps in the fabric over his stomach. "Now go away while I finish this up."

"W-wait, so you'll come upstairs when you're done?" The boy queried, and Castiel looked up seriously, meeting the boy's stare.

"If you agree not to harass me like you did before."

"I didn't mean t-"

"I don't care. You try it again and I won't stick around to help," he added, reaching forward to take the scissors from the medical kit. "I'm not having you treat me like I'm some kind of toy."

The demon kept quiet, and Castiel got on with aiding himself. He cut the bandage so it could be secured and tied against his waist, twisting it in with the tightly wound material so it would be easy to remove later, before throwing the scissors and excess bandage back in the box, sitting back and frowning down at his hands. He didn't have a clue what he was doing anymore, unsure of how to proceed around the child. The boy seemed friendly enough, even if he was somewhat clingy and utterly irritating, and Castiel still didn't know why the demon was choosing to treat him so fairly when he could have quite easily kept him locked down in the basement until he was needed. Obviously he was aware that the child seemed to have some issues with being alone, otherwise he wouldn't be calling upon Castiel for company, but he hadn't ever thought a demon would  _choose_  to treat him kindly. Well, it wasn't exactly kind, but he was being pleasant enough. Castiel was simply pleased he hadn't been abused for other entertainment purposes.

He stood up carefully, knocking the lid of the medical kit shut as he picked up his shirt from the floor to examine the fabric, scowling at the deep stains that would take forever to remove. He couldn't afford to throw away any of his clothing, not when he had so very little, so he'd just have to make do with whatever he was left with.

The demon cleared his throat. "Do you, uhhh, want a clean shirt or anything? That thing's covered in blood, dude. It's pretty gross."

"Whatever you give me you'll probably never get back," Castiel muttered, walking past with the clothing clutched tightly in his left hand. "And given the fact that you're about to become homeless, I'd suggest you keep hold of whatever garments you had in mind."

He started up the steps, rubbing at his jaw with his other hand, only reminding himself that he'd need to shave soon. He knew there was a bathroom here - he'd seen it when he'd looked around the first time - but he didn't particularly feel comfortable doing it without his own razor, if the boy even had one here. The kid looked as if he hadn't even started shaving yet, so Castiel knew there was a fairly high probability that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to do so.

But then again, if there were no razors, why had he been made to go to a public restroom as opposed to the clean, pleasant bathroom here in the cabin? It was obvious the demon hadn’t allowed him to use the one here because of the risk of suicide, which in fairness, was one of the smartest moves he’d seen the boy make, but Castiel most certainly wouldn't have resorted to that when his power had been growing as strong as it was. 

Not only that, but it would mean another angel would have to suffer in his place. Castiel had it good in comparison to the others in the vicinity, practically free to do whatever he wanted in spite of the poor wealth that assisted this moderate freedom. But still, anything was better than becoming a pet. If he ever found himself in  _that_ position, without any means of escape, that would probably be the only time he'd be willing to end his own life.

“So, is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” The demon pressed, and Castiel snapped out of his thoughts, irritated by the boy's persistancy,

“No, I do  _not_  want any of your clothing,” Castiel blurted, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “Did you not listen to  _anything_  I just said?”

It went quiet again as Castiel continued up the stairs, and he frowned when he stepped onto the upper floor, throwing his shirt to the ground before moving on through to the area he’d first been introduced to. He sat down on the beam before laying back, a hand over his eyes and a grimace on his face when his wound ached with the pressure.

In spite of his initial want to remain alone, he knew it wouldn’t be fair of him to leave the boy when they genuinely seemed to be trying to apologize for the earlier happenings. And it wasn’t as if he’d have anything of interest to pass the time with should he have stayed in the basement. At least up here there was a fairly tolerable form of company.

He let out another sigh, closing his eyes as he thought about what kind of illness he’d be taking in tomorrow. Clearly it was something severe, otherwise the invalid would have received medical treatment by now, but Castiel had very little knowledge on illness, able to heal himself when something stronger attacked his immune system, so he didn’t really know what to expect.

He could worry about that nearer the time though. Right now, he was more concerned about what he’d be doing afterwards.

He was out of work and he definitely wasn’t going to be paid for this job. Sooner or later he’d find himself scavenging again, unable to afford food and the like and if he wanted to avoid that scenario, he'd have to start searching for work straight away, or bargain with Crowley in order to be reemployed. The second option was something he’d undoubtably consider a last resort, mainly because he didn’t know how Crowley would react to find out that he’d survived the arranged execution, or even whether it would happen to him again: sold off as a 'cure-all medicine'. Risking his life wouldn’t be worth it – especially when there were hundreds of other hunting firms out there run by humans that could be more welcoming than one run by a demon, even if the pay was somewhat lower. Castiel would just have to get used to it again, no matter how it would affect his health.

He clenched his jaw, trying to find some sort of positive reminder amongst his thoughts. There was living, obviously. He’d still be alive …

But what else was there? There were so many things fighting against him – making his survival more and more difficult.

Was there really any point in fighting it at all? 

*

Dean walked over to where Castiel was awkwardly positioned, staring down at the guy in confusion because he  _really_  didn’t see how it was comfortable. Hell, he was half-lying on a beam of splintered wood with an arm thrown over his face, and from what Dean could see of the angel’s expression, the guy couldn’t have been okay with laying like that at all.

But he didn’t exactly want to go passing comments because Cas seemed to be going through some kind of mood swing and had started being a grumpy asshole all over again, so Dean simply sat down a short distance away on the same beam, watching for any kind of change in the angel’s appearance – hopefully a positive one. He’d liked how  _normal_  Cas had seemed before – like, even though there was conflict between their species, there wasn't much conflict between _them_ anymore. Cas had actually smiled at him; not the same virtually-invisible smile he’d seen the first time they’d met, or when he’d gotten rid of the warding. This one had been different, and Dean didn’t know how to describe it, but it’d been nice to see something other than a scowl.

And the fact that Cas had also let him help with that brutal injury to his back was an added bonus, because at least he knew that the angel wasn’t at risk of bleeding out accidentally or anything now. He’d honestly expected the guy to put up more of a fight against receiving any help, and obviously, the fact that Cas had been so cooperative afterwards definitely made the difference, not that Cas would have been able to lash out like he had the first time Dean had helped or anything, but whatever. The point was, Dean didn’t feel as anxious knowing that Castiel could heal properly.

Which brought him to the subject of healing, because he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to the worry that had settled in his gut. It was gone  _now_ , but that was because he finally had  _proof_  that Castiel could heal others, as opposed to simply going by the angel’s word. Sure, Cas had basically used him as a test project, but it had worked, meaning that it would work on Sam, and Dean’d sooner be the experiment than his younger brother, not wanting anything to go wrong in the slightest. Dean had known he should have given the angel a little more credit, what with the offer to be healed before, but he was honestly relieved to know that Cas was  _not_ a liar, like his dad had ignorantly implied. Not  _all_ angels were liars.

And it wasn't just about being able to heal others, it was about the property of angel blood too, because Dean  _actually_ had proof that an angel's blood was basically useless. It had done absolutely nothing at all to help his injuries, and yeah, he knew that the blood was generally used in a spell of some kind, with a bunch of other stuff, but even if that was the case he could remember Cas insinuating that the whole process was just a rumour.

Dean really was starting to believe it was down to nothing but racism now: the whole angel-blood-cure ideal. Cas had been ... he'd sort of become bitter when Dean had addressed Cas' heritage - not that Dean blamed him for the reaction or anything. He'd known from the moment he'd asked that it would be a sensitive subject, but he'd been hoping Cas would go into a little more, what with him suddenly being okay to talk and all.

He stilled at the sound of the angel's stomach rumbling, watching Castiel grimace and run a hand down his face. It kind of annoyed him that Cas hadn't eaten the food that Dean had brought down to him the day before, mainly because he'd actually  _paid_  for it, but he knew why the guy hadn't accepted it and that was totally reasonable. He just thought it slightly ridiculous that Castiel would turn down a meal when he'd clearly said that diet affected the power of his Grace.

Unless junk food did more worse than good. Dean didn't really know.

What he did know, however, was that Cas would be better off actually eating something to keep his energy up, because Dean didn't exactly want to turn up at the motel tomorrow with Castiel in a run down state - especially if it meant the care Sam received wasn't as best as it could be.

Dean looked down to his own hands, scratching at the back of his left wrist. "I can get you something to eat if you want."

"I'll pass," Castiel muttered, his tone slightly slurred as if he was still tired, and Dean sighed, turning his gaze to the angel again.

"We can go shopping. I'll let you choose whatever you want," Dean offered.

The angel opened his eyes, looking up at him. "You'd let me leave the cabin?"

"If you, y'know, promise not to ditch me."

Castiel blinked up at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Is there a set budget?"

Dean grinned. "Just because there's not, doesn't mean I'll let you abuse it."

Cas stretched his arms above his head, not seeming to mind if they rested over Dean's lap for a short while, still holding his line of sight.

"Obviously, you'd have to put a shirt on," Dean added, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't really care if I get it back or not."

The angel just kept staring at him, so Dean decided to stare right back, watching Castiel's expression revert back to that of an emotionless one; impassive.

That's when Dean noticed it.

"Oh my  _God_ , why are your eyes doing that?!" He blurted, hurriedly adjusting himself on the beam so he could lean over the angel and get a better look.

Castiel pushed away abruptly, shoving harshly at Dean's shoulder as he got to his feet, stumbling a little as the deal repelled him. "My eyes are fine."

Dean watched as Castiel stormed off toward the kitchen, feeling nothing but guilt for agitating the guy again. It was all he seemed to be capable of: pissing the angel off, but this time he hadn't  _expected_  an annoyedreaction. He'd thought Cas would remain just as calm as he had the few seconds before, whilst he explained why his eyes changed fucking  _purple_.

"Dude, wait!" He shouted, standing up to go after him. The angel's hesitation was so short that Dean didn't even know if he'd imagined it or not in the first place, but by the time he did reach where Cas stood, the guy had covered his eyes with his hands as he leant against the counter, frowning. 

"Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Dean tried, refraining from reaching out to pull the angel's hands away because that  _definitely_  would not go down well. "I've just never seen an angel's eyes before. I didn't expect them to change colour."

"I don't care," Castiel huffed, leaning further against the island as if trying to put more distance between Dean and himself. "I'm not a fucking freak show."

"Hey, I never called you a freak! It just caught me off-guard," he said, mimicking Castiel's stance in an attempt to sight his face again. "It's cool, though. Like the whole change with Psylocke."

"With  _what_?" Castiel queried, keeping his hands firmly in place, but his features softened, the frown no where near as prominant.

"Psylocke. She's a superhero. In comics and stuff," Dean rambled, watching Castiel's nose scrunch up in confusion. He grinned at the sight, because it was so similar to Sam's reactions when Dean waffled on about his favourite characters and all that crap, but Dean didn't have anyone else to talk to about it. His dad sure as hell wasn't going to humour him with a conversation on fictional storylines.

"I don't understand. Am I meant to hear that as an insult or a compliment?"

"Compliment," Dean chirped, folding his arms over the countertop to make himself more comfortable, before looking to the front door. "Sooo ... does that happen a lot then? Your eyes turning purple?"

"I don't see why it's important for to you know," the angel commented. 

Castiel's hands had shifted when Dean glanced back, and he grinned wider when he noticed Cas peering around his fingers. He slapped a hand over his own eyes teasingly. "Whoa, dude. Don't look at me with those freaky eyes of yours!"

"Says the demon with green eyes," the angel grumbled, and Dean laughed, letting his hand fall from his face so he could look at Cas properly.

"Well, green is a little more natural than purple, I can tell you that," he murmured, scratching the side of his nose. "Is that why you were staring at me earlier then? 'Cos my eyes are so utterly incredible?"

He could see that Castiel's eyes had turned blue again, if not a little lighter in colour, and he wondered if that's how hunters could tell what he was. It was subtle, sure, but for someone who constantly analysed everything - especially when they'd been trained to be wary of everyone - the whole turning purple thing was probably a bit more obvious.

Castiel began to toy with the bracelet on his wrist as he lowered his hands from his face, his eyes focusing on the steel band instead whilst he ran his fingers over the surface, apparently ignoring the question, but Dean didn't really care. He knew his eyes were abnormal - hell, his dad reminded him enough as it was - but it wasn't exactly a  _fault_. It made him look more human, and it wasn't often that other hunters actually acknowledged his demonic heritage unless his dad was with him. Humans couldn't see the extension of his shadow.

"You're strange for a demon," Castiel muttered finally, and Dean cocked his head to the side in amusement because that wasn't exactly an insult. And even if it was, it wasn't like it had been a critical bash to his self esteem.

"Why thank you, Castiel," he said cheerfully, causing the angel's eyes to flicker to him in what Dean could only assume was surprise, and he pushed away from the counter to start toward the back room, kicking the basement hatch closed on his way past. "Now come and pick out a shirt."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He glanced around curiously, trying to recognize the store they'd moved to. He was surprised no one had noticed their sudden appearance in the frozen foods section, and he wondered if anyone had noticed their disappearance from the other place - more so because of the food they'd ended up stealing. It truly did make Castiel uncomfortable, but this was the one occasion when it didn't seem to matter. There was no risk of him being caught for something that would have usually been difficult, and he hadn't exactly been given a choice as to whether or not he was happy to go along with it.
> 
> If anyone was to blame, it was the demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, I made them flirt way too much. I'm so sorry.
> 
> I may have fangirled a little too hard at the start of this chapter, but there's a ship in the comics that has complete relevance to the stories, so, y'know, Dean has to be an X-Men fan for it all to work.  
> Mwahaha
> 
> Also, I apologise for how late this update is. I had an art exam I had to prepare for, and knowing me I left all the work till last minute.

_“That’s_  who you compared me to? Some disproportionate girl in a swimsuit?”

“She’s not just  _some girl._  She’s a superhero! She kicks ass!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why she stands out amongst the other characters. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that her breasts are bigger than her head,” Castiel muttered, shoving the comic book against Dean’s chest before starting down toward the produce isle. Dean stared down at the page Cas had been looking at, only just acknowledging that it probably wasn't the best introductory image. The artist, for one, was different, so yes: her body shape wasn't  _exactly_ the same as it had been in earlier issues, and then there was the case of it not even being her  _original_  body; but her appearance wasn't the reason why Dean liked her, so the size of her boobs wasn't something that drew him to the character anyway.

“In what way are we even similar?” Castiel called over his shoulder, and Dean cleared his throat, glancing up again so he wasn't left behind.

“Uhhh, well, for starters, like I said before, her eyes get changed from blue to purple, but that’s ‘cos she gets, like, robotic ones instead, and it’s not down to genetics,” Dean began, chasing after the guy. “And you did that thing in the kitchen where you moved stuff without touching it – as well as bringing the beam down in the main room, which I still don't know how you managed.”

The angel looked back at him momentarily, keeping quiet, but he slowed a little, allowing Dean to catch up and walk beside him. Dean was mindful of the basket that bumped against his knee when he went too close, seeing it as more of a barrier between them as opposed to a useful object at this point, and he dropped the comic into it as they kept going, making it the first item to have been added as of yet, in spite of them having already spent around ten minutes in the store.

“Anyway,” Dean huffed, looking off to the side at the shelf of tinned fruit. “Psylocke can do something similar – later on in her story, I mean. Well, she can do a hell of a lot more than the whole telekinesis thing you’ve got going on, but I don’t really know the extent of your power so I dunno what other comparisons I can make yet.”

“Uh-huh,” Castiel murmured, and Dean jolted when the basket slammed into the side of his leg.

“Dude, what the fuck?!” He blurted, rubbing at the point of impact through the material of his jeans as he put a bit more distance between them. “What’d I do?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Castiel offered, holding up a hand in apology. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Dean glared at the angel, frowning when Castiel turned his attention to the fruit on display instead. He doubted that it had been an accident, but he didn’t exactly want to start an argument when there were other people shopping around them. And anyway, he was sick of arguing with the guy. He liked this sort of civil atmosphere they’d managed to create, even if Castiel was still somewhat unresponsive when he didn’t care for the topic of conversation. Dean was trying though; still unsure of what boundaries they had in place in terms of what he could address. But yeah: he definitely didn’t want to end up pissing Castiel off again.

“So what powers  _do_  you have?” He continued, carefully taking the basket from Castiel’s hand to prevent the angel from bashing him with it again. Castiel didn’t really seem to mind, letting Dean take it without complaint, but he looked to Dean with an exhausted expression on his face, frowning.

“Why?”

Dean shrugged, swinging the basket gently as he stepped closer. It wasn’t just to make a comparison between the guy and one of his favourite characters because that wasn’t exactly important; and it wasn’t to find out Cas’ weaknesses or anything like that because he had no intention of trapping the angel – or any other angel for that matter – again. In all honesty, he just found Cas interesting.

Like, Cas wasn’t an asshole  _all_  the time. It seemed to be more to do with their situation than anything else because Cas had been kind of okay when they’d talked about something relatively normal, but even the transition to the grocery store had made the guy relax a bit. Well, he was a bit more polite for a start, and he’d been more cooperative in terms of conversation, but the whole mood swing thing wasn’t the reason  _why_  Dean found him so interesting. 

First of all, Cas was like,  _really_  forgiving. Dean had treated the angel like shit, and yet here he was, walking around WinCo with the very same person. Obviously things between them weren’t  _great,_  but he’d honestly expected Cas to have continued being uncooperative until Dean had needed him to help. It unsettled him a bit, knowing that Castiel could turn on him at any moment, but he wanted to trust the angel after everything the guy had proved to him earlier, so here he was: effectively risking his life in the name of trust.

Okay, to put it like that was a little harsh. Castiel hadn't done or said anything particularly cruel. He'd been defending himself, and Dean certainly hadn't been pleasant to start with, but in spite of all that, Cas had continued to talk to him – and it wasn’t the same kind of aggressive conversation they’d had earlier on in the day, because Dean knew for a fact that Cas was only talking to humour him. The angel didn’t care about the same things Dean did, but even when the conversation had fallen flat, Castiel had asked about something relating to the whole comic book thing, and that’s kinda the reason why Dean had shown him the story in the first place.

Cas might not care, but he was no where near as dismissive as John was when Dean bought up this topic.

“Well, my dad told me about the angels that he’d met and the powers they had, so I was wondering if all angels had the same powers or not,” he lied. He wasn’t ignorant enough to think that every angel would be an exact copycat in terms of their abilities, but he’d found that one of the only ways he got a decent answer was to seem fairly ignorant. It was lame, yes, but in this situation especially, he wanted a good answer.

Castiel stared at him seriously, his eyes bordering on cold, and Dean looked away out of discomfort, averting his gaze down to the basket when he realised just how racist that must have sounded to the guy.

“All angels are different,” Castiel stated simply, before falling quiet again, followed by a light rustling noise.

Dean kicked at the floor, scuffing his shoe. “But did you get, like, the same powers as your parents, or is it random like with demons?”

The angel snorted, and Dean looked up again, watching Castiel fill one of the thin plastic bags with apples.

“You know what? Even I don’t know the answer to that. My parents wouldn’t let me use my powers and I never saw them do anything, so sorry. Can’t help you there.”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, watching as Castiel began to tie a knot with the plastic handles. If Cas’ tone was anything to go by, Dean had addressed a sensitive subject – a moderately more sensitive subject than the whole angel ideal in itself addressed – and he felt the guilt twist through his chest, knowing that once again, he’d fucked up.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I –”

“Don’t apologise,” the angel interrupted, turning around to place the bag in the basket, avoiding eye contact. “Honestly, I’ve never known anyone to say sorry as frequently as you do. You hadn’t even done anything wrong.”

“So you  _didn’t_  mind me asking that kind of question?” Dean followed up, and Castiel met his line of sight for a brief few seconds before turning toward the display again.

“You’re curious, not impulsive. I wouldn’t answer you if you brought up something I believed to be too personal or anything of the sort,” the angel muttered, taking a few steps down the isle as he continued to browse.

“Does that mean you’re okay with me asking about your powers?” 

Castiel stalled, sighing. “I’m not demonstrating anything, if that’s what you wanted.”

“No, no – I just want to hear about it,” Dean grinned, catching up to him again. “And anyway, I know that using your power would affect your Grace. It’d be kinda selfish of me to ask you to waste energy showing me stuff when it’d make things more difficult for you tomorrow.”

That earned him a rather surprised glance from the angel, before Castiel was facing forward once more, shaking his head and smirking. 

“You are singlehandedly the  _weirdest_  demon I have ever met.”

“But I’m cool, right?” Dean prompted, quirking an eyebrow when Castiel looked at him again.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?"

"It's pretty explanatory: no, I don't think you're cool," the angel told him, pulling a face as if he found the question confusing.

"Yeah, but do you have a reason?"

"What?"

"You can't just insult me like that without reason."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Is that what you kids consider an insult?"

"Sixteen," Dean chirped, elbowing the angel gently. "Not a kid."

Cas looked at him mockingly, both eyebrows raised. "You're a  _minor_. In other words, you're a child."

"I am not!" Dean blurted, cringing as the heat touched at the tips of his ears.

"And yet, you let yourself fall victim to such a childish taunt," Castiel teased, elbowing Dean back.

"Doesn't that make you childish for starting it in the first place?"

"I think you'll find that  _you're_  being childish by wanting to continue the argument."

"That's not how it works."

"That's  _definitely_  how it works."

"Shut up," Dean scowled, shoving at Castiel's arm. 

The angel grinned across at him, allowing Dean to identify the dark shade of lilac that had replaced the prior blue of his irises, and he ducked his head in embarrassment, feeling the blush crawl over his cheeks. Sure, he wanted to look at Cas' eyes again, but he'd just made a damn fool of himself and sharing eye contact with Castiel wasn't exactly going to make him feel any more comfortable.

"So, are you going to ask me questions, or can I continue shopping?" Castiel asked cheerfully, and Dean fiddled with the handle of the basket absentmindedly, picking up on just how  _pleased_  the guy sounded. It wasn't just that, because Dean hadn't seen Cas look as fucking satisfied as that before, and just knowing that the angel was essentially repaying Dean for being a patronizing jackass the day prior had him wishing he'd been a little bit nicer in the beginning. 

"Why do angels' eyes change colour?" He queried, glancing up timidly. Castiel's smile had softened and he was looking to the groceries available again, and yet Cas looked like he wasn't paying attention. Even with the smile, his expression was still fairly vacant.

"That doesn't have anything to do with our powers."

Dean shrugged. "No, but I mean in general. You didn't tell me before."

"You didn't ask," the angel replied dryly, stopping to take another of those plastic bags from a dispenser.

Dean frowned, holding the basket out to the side so it wouldn't swing against Castiel's back. "I did."

"You asked me if it happened frequently," Castiel continued, reaching back to drop a netted bag of oranges into the basket before adding a different variety of apples to the new plastic bag. "And I don't know that. I can't see them without looking in a mirror."

Dean rolled his lips between his teeth, taking hold of the bag when Castiel held it out to him. "Why does it happen through?"

The angel looked up at him as he turned around, adjusting the base of the shirt he was wearing. It was weird seeing Castiel in his clothes, but it wasn't like he'd particularly liked that shirt. It was plain and a little too big, and yet it was the only item Cas had actually considered acceptable in terms of appearance, even if his shoulders were broader than the fit of the clothing. It didn't look  _bad_ because it wasn't that obvious that it was a little bit small, what with Castiel's slimmer build.

Despite the guy being older than him, they were practically the same height, meaning that the torso length of the shirt wasn't short on the angel or anything. The only thing that really stood out, was that it wasn't as ... loose as the shirt Castiel had worn beforehand. That wasn't to say it was stupidly tight or something like that because all it seemed to do was pull taut across the top of his chest, and the rest of the fabric basically just accentuated Cas' muscles without clinging to him or outlining the bandages, and Dean really needed to stop thinking about something so ridiculous because he had far more interesting things he could be thinking about over that of the angel's Goddamn clothes.

"I'd actually rather not discuss that with you."

Dean stilled for a moment, only moving again when Castiel pressed a hand to his chest, gently pushing him away to put some distance between them. "Okay."

He couldn't help but feel marginally disappointed because the change in itself was awesome. It was like when ink was dropped into water in terms of how gradual it was, but that had to be creepy as fuck to see from the perspective of a human. Dean hadn't really acknowledged _how_  they'd changed before, but he could see the changes going on now, Castiel apparently no longer caring as to whether Dean stared or not.

"Do people usually freak out when they see them change?" He questioned, and the angel pushed at him lightly, rolling his eyes.

"What happened to you asking about my powers. I didn't agree to  _this_."

"I just want to know why you made a big fuss about your eyes before if you're okay with me looking at them now."

The angel went slightly pink, all and any traces of his smile disappearing. "At what point did I say I was okay with it?"

Dean blinked. "Well, I'd have thought if you didn't want me looking at you, we'd be having a repeat of earlier."

Castiel began to chew on his lower lip, his eyes reverting back to blue again almost instantly, and Dean was slightly alarmed by how quick the change was, encouraged to rethink everything properly, not wanting to make Castiel any more uncomfortable than he already had.

"I didn't think -" "A-actually, don't worry about it."

Dean froze at the realisation of what had just happened, immediately regretting saying anything at all. Castiel had fallen quiet with a grimace on his face, and it only made Dean feel worse knowing that the angel hadn't simply ignored the question, but instead had been thinking up a fucking answer!

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to speak over you like that!" He blundered, grabbing Castiel’s arm when Cas went to move away. "I thought you weren't gonna answer me, and I didn't want to make you feel forced into telling me anything."

Castiel prised Dean's fingers from his arm carefully, continuing to frown. "It's fine."

"So what were you going to say?" He pursued, watching Castiel's expression warily. He didn’t know if he’d upset the guy, or if Cas was going to start complaining about how much Dean talked again, because he’d heard that twice within the first five minutes of actually walking around the store, and he was actually surprised Castiel hadn’t told him to shut up more often, what with him having waffled on about the fucking X-Men for God knows how long before even showing Cas who Psylocke was.

"It doesn't matter," Castiel mumbled, reaching for the basket in Dean's hand. 

"But you were happy to tell me just then. What's so different about now?"

"There's no difference. But like you implied: I am not under any obligation to tell you."

Dean pouted, pulling the comic book back out of the basket quickly as Castiel turned to head down the next isle. "You're still gonna tell me about your powers though, right?"

"I did say as much," Castiel hummed, and Dean let himself smile again at the familiar tone, pacing himself so he and Cas could continue to walk side by side.

"So, what other psychic-y abilities do you have?" He inquired, watching the lilac colour spill through Castiel's irises slowly, almost mixing with the blue.

"Are those the only ones you're interested in? My 'psychic abilities'?" The angel asked, a slight smirk pulling at his lips. "Because I can tell you now, you're going to be extremely disappointed by how much I have to talk to you about."

Dean pursed his lips in mock irritation, pulling Castiel close to him for a few moments as a couple attempted to walk past. "That does disappoint me," he teased, pushing Cas away lightly when the isle was empty again. " _God_ , Castiel, why can't you be more awesome."

"Well, at least you got my name right that time around," Castiel muttered, plucking the comic from Dean's hand. Dean considered objecting, but in all honesty, he didn’t really care. Watching Castiel’s facial expressions change whilst his eyes skimmed over the front cover was enough to entertain him anyway.

The angel went on to flick through a few pages, his brow furrowed as they kept walking past the displays, not paying attention to what was around him in the slightest, and Dean had to grab his wrist to stop him from walking into one of the stalls, grinning stupidly when he received a tight frown in response.

“Hurry up and pick out everything you want,” he prompted, reaching over in an attempt to snatch the comic back, but Castiel held it at bay, his expression impassive. Dean didn't even bother trying to grab it again, rubbing a hand over his eyes when Castiel looked back to the pages of the comic in what seemed to be confusion.

Dean sighed, taking hold of Castiel's arm again so he could teleport them elsewhere - preferably somewhere with more selection, because although WinCo was cheaper, Dean wasn't going to be paying for any of it anyway. He'd kind of decided that after Castiel had asked if he could buy containers and shit to take food back with him.

He'd thought it weird at first: why the angel would want to take as much as he could, but after what Castiel had said about issues with work and the treatment he received in general, Dean kind of understood why it was actually a pretty good idea. This whole event - the confining, and the plans to murder him - had all been arranged by who Dean could only assume was Castiel's employer. John hadn't said much about it, and Dean hadn't met with whoever it was himself, but it was rare for a lower class hunter to trade in something - or  _someone_  - so valuable, even if it wasn't theirs to begin with.

The situation Castiel was in now was probably worse than Dean's. He doubted that Cas would be able to find work soon enough to be able to afford a few more weeks worth of supplies, and Dean didn't see any problems in helping the guy out whilst he had the chance.

Which was kind of why Dean had considered giving him a referral.

It was Dean's dad that usually dealt with the employer, being paid for both of their work out on a hunt, but with the reputation his family had, it couldn't be too difficult to find someone ... less racist to employ Castiel. There were several hunters he knew that were against the whole abusing angels thing, even if his dad had tried to enforce it as a positive thing, so if it meant Castiel wouldn't die of starvation or even find himself trapped again, then talking to a few contacts wasn't gonna hurt.

In terms of himself, hunting wasn't necessary. Not unless he wanted a permanent roof over his head anyway, but he was so used to the constant transfer from motel to motel that he didn't really feel comfortable with finding an apartment or something along those lines. It wasn't like he had anything important to house; just a laptop and his crippled iPod, enough clothes to semi-fill a duffel bag, and a couple of old comics and books. It wasn't much, but it was all he wanted. Anything more would be a burden.

But right now, that wasn't important. He still had to worry about Cas, and one of his main concerns - other than the whole starvation thing - was if Cas would be okay after healing Sam.

The kid was in terrible condition, barely able to even sit up on his own anymore, so he was basically permanently bedridden. They'd been to doctors and healers, psychics and witches - and still, they didn't have a fucking clue what they were dealing with.

He had no doubt that Castiel would be able to take it on himself, but it was whether or not he'd be affected for a long period of time that Dean worried about most. That was kind of another reason why he was letting Cas go all out in terms of shopping. If Castiel was going to end up in a similar situation to Sam for a while whilst he healed, and he couldn't go out on hunts or anything, then he wouldn't be able to make money to get by. At least this way, Cas wouldn't starve to death, or lose the power of his Grace from a poor diet or something.

Dean didn't know. All he wanted was to make sure that Castiel didn't suffer or anything after actually helping them.

*

Castiel's head reeled as his feet touched solid ground, feigning a neutral reaction so the boy wouldn't notice just how ill the entire transition made him feel. It had been fine the first few times, but he supposed that was because he’d been expecting it, and after such an abrupt change in scenery, Castiel honestly thought he was going to pass out. It helped that the boy was still holding onto his arm, even if the familiarity the demon was treating him with made him feel more claustrophobic than anything else.

He was pushed forward gently, the boy almost guiding him toward this new selection of food, but Castiel wasn’t really focussing on that, still staring down at the brightly coloured pictures on the page.

“Next time you plan on moving us elsewhere, can you at least tell me first?” He murmured thoughtlessly, slapping the demon’s hand away when he tried to take the comic from him again. “Stop that! You can look at it later.”

“But it’s _mine_!”

“Did you _pay_ for it?” Castiel countered, turning the page. “Did you buy this during the three seconds you disappeared in before?”

He couldn’t help but smirk when the boy fell silent, running his eyes over each shaded sketch for the second time. He wasn’t an idiot. This copy clearly hadn’t ever been read before, and with the boy’s abilities, he wasn’t really surprised that the child stole things. That wasn’t to say he _agreed_ with it, but it did help to know that the demon would be able to provide for himself on his own if he relied upon such a talent.

He turned the page again, skimming his eyes over the text boxes as he attempted to register what it was exactly that was going on in the storyline.

It wasn’t quite the same as the books he’d had read to him as a child, where the characters were pastel coloured and frequently orientated around harmless creatures. There was nothing childish or adorable about either the art style or the vocabulary, and Castiel struggled to understand what exactly was going on. The images helped a great deal, but the speech of some characters was confusing, the small font making it far more difficult to read.

He’d seen comics such as these lining the shelves in stores before, not really caring for the images or content. His opinion hadn’t changed, but clearly there had to be _some_ element of interest if the boy was so utterly obsessed with the illustrated stories, hence the reason why he was attempting to read at least a little of it now.

Not that he was doing very well.

He could vaguely identify a few of the characters from the terms of address. Obviously there was that girl he'd been compared to, and the name 'Psylocke' was practically etched into his brain, what with it being every other word that tumbled out of the boy's mouth.

He didn't really understand the appeal of her. From what he could read in terms of her speech, she came across as a fairly nasty character, and it was actually rather insulting to have been compared to someone who didn't seem to care for anyone other than themself.

The boy hadn't actually _claimed_ to have seen such a characteristic in Castiel, but it was somewhat irritating to know that the demon was purposely looking for more ways in which he could compare them. He knew that was the sole reason behind the child wanting to know of his powers, but he doubted many matches could be made between himself and a fictional character, given that this Psylocke's abilities seemed to relate back to her utterly original name.

Well, Castiel had only seen a page, but the boy wouldn't have specifically requested to hear about Castiel's psychic powers if the character wasn't boxed into that one category.

Castiel didn't even know why he was caring about something so insignificant. The demon had asked him to talk of his powers as a whole initially, and Castiel had no problem with discussing them. If anything, it would make him seem more intimidating than his 'young appearance' apparently provided, and he could do with a little more control at this point in time. There wasn't as much of a problem with the way the boy was treating him anymore, but he still didn't know what to expect. The demon was definitely being kinder, and Castiel felt more at ease than he'd been since they'd met, yet that additional dominance would let him actually _relax._ That was all he wanted: to be able to forget about the potential threat and focus on what should be important.

And comic books did not file under 'important'.

"Here," he said softly, closing the cover before holding it out for the boy to take.

The demon looked down to it, taking a step back and holding up his hands. "No, no - it's fine. You finish reading it first."

Castiel chose to drop it in the basket instead, knowing that if the boy was going to insist upon him keeping it, there was no point holding it when he'd need to be picking other things up.

He glanced around curiously, trying to recognize the store they'd moved to. He was surprised no one had noticed their sudden appearance in the frozen foods section, and he wondered if anyone had noticed their disappearance from the other place - more so because of the food they'd ended up stealing. It truly did make Castiel uncomfortable, but this was the one occasion when it didn't seem to matter. There was no risk of him being caught for something that would have usually been difficult, and he hadn't exactly been given a choice as to whether or not he was happy to go along with it.

If anyone was to blame, it was the demon.

"Are you getting anything?" He asked, not really enjoying the lack of conversation. It was mildly entertaining to hear the boy talk, even if he did ramble on about pointless nonsense. He just seemed to be so enthusiastic about everything he talked about, and Castiel was amused by the excitement lacing his words in spite of the events to come, almost like the whole childish innocence prevented him from ever staying upset.

"I dunno. Pizza probably. Oh, but the stove at the cabin isn't very good, so if you're planning on making yourself something, I wouldn't recommend anything that has to cook for longer than half an hour in the oven," the boy replied, and Castiel frowned slightly, rethinking his options. He didn't _need_ to cook anything to have a decent meal, and he hadn't particularly wanted to use what was available in the cabin anyway because he didn't know how clean anything was.

Regardless, he'd grown accustomed to life without an oven or microwave. He didn't need that kind of food to survive, and he would definitely benefit from something vegetable-based anyway. He needed to boost his strength as much as possible.

"Where's the vegetable isle?"

The demon snorted. "Is that seriously all you're going to eat? Salad and fruit?"

Castiel ignored him, looking up to the signs hanging down above the displays.

"Wait - is _that_ why you didn't eat the burger? Are you a vegetarian?"

Castiel glanced to the boy for a moment. "No. I eat whatever strengthens my Grace," he stated, turning his attention to the hand still resting on his arm. "Now please may you help me find the things I'm looking for?"

He stumbled a little when the demon pulled him back in the direction they came, the basket knocking between the both of them, and Castiel quickly switched his hold to his other hand, smiling across at the demon apologetically when the boy turned his head, glowering.

He was surprised the demon hadn't persisted with questions on his powers, given how interested he'd been before, but Castiel didn't mind either way. The only other reason he would have wanted to discuss powers would be to find out some of the demon's own. It was more common for a demon to have no ability than anything at all, and already Castiel had seen two different powers being demonstrated by the child. The creation or summoning of objects - whatever it was that had allowed the boy to put both handcuffs and a collar on Castiel in the first place - was an _incredibly_ rare power for a demon to possess, and yet, here he was walking beside a boy that could not only create objects, but could also teleport to wherever he wished; an ability that Castiel really hadn't thought any demon would ever be able to use.

Angels could do something similar, but only when they had enough power to make their forms travel through walls and the like ... and if they'd been taught how to master such an ability. It was the main reason as to why Castiel hadn't abandoned the demon as such _now,_ because his energy levels had certainly increased to the point where he was sure such a talent would have been useful. But then there was that slight reminder that it would actually be far too cruel to leave at this point, more so when he took into account just how well the boy was treating him. He'd honestly thought that this was all just some act that would fade if Castiel had continued to be unresponsive, but he'd tried that earlier and the boy had kept on walking around with a stupid smile on his face, talking to him as if Castiel had been asking him all sorts of questions anyway.

That wasn't to say that Castiel wasn't interested in what the demon had to say, because he'd expected the boy to have been just as irritating and arrogant as he was earlier on, and yet he wasn't. Not really. The child was still a little full of himself, but it seemed to be more as a joke than anything else, and it had Castiel wondering just how much of a front this was: the whole Mr. Confidence act. The mask had slipped now on multiple occasions, and Castiel didn't know whether it was an issue with how he was generally treated or how he viewed himself, but if the boy didn't confront something of that nature, hunts were going to be far more difficult for him to handle on his own.

They continued around the store with little conversation, the demon taking very few things for himself, and it wasn't until Castiel found himself facing the shelves of alcohol that he felt inclined to say anything important.

"Last time I checked, you weren't twenty-one," he commented, shoving the boy lightly when the demon began to browse what was available.

"So?"

"So you're not old enough to drink. It's a fairly simple concept."

The boy pulled a face, but he picked up a case of El Sol regardless, continuing on down the isle. "Dad lets me drink, so I don't see the problem with getting beer for myself."

Castiel pushed a hand through his hair in frustration, disgusted by the boy's father and his apparent lack of care for how it could affect the kid. Even when Castiel had been that young he hadn't been drinking, and he'd spent the majority of his time waiting at a hunter's bar for the next job.

He still didn't drink that often _now,_ knowing that he needed to save the majority of his wealth for things that were actually beneficial. Well, alcohol was beneficial sometimes - especially when things had been particularly difficult - but that usually resulted in him drinking to excess and waking up in the bed of a stranger.

The demon didn't need to head on down that route - especially at such a young age - but then, what right did Castiel have to address something of the sort? It wasn't _his_ child, and although he didn't agree with the poor parenting the boy's father clearly provided, he shouldn't have been getting involved at all. The demon could do whatever he wanted.

He followed behind the boy timorously, swinging the basket in his hand as he waited for the demon to finish getting everything he wanted for himself. It was heavier now, filled to the brim with everything Castiel could use over the next six weeks if he went about it sparingly, and the demon had taken a few things into his arms to help ease the load, even if it was clear that the boy was beginning to struggle.

"Do you want to put some of that back in the basket?" He questioned, and the boy looked back at him brightly.

"Would that be okay? I think I kinda underestimated how much I could carry."

Castiel smiled, setting the basket down on the ground, crouching beside it. "Bring it over," he murmured, adjusting the contents so that the lighter objects were brought to the top, not wanting any of it to become too badly damaged. The demon dropped down beside him, dumping all the packaged goods on the floor carelessly, and Castiel rubbed his brow as he tried to hide his amusement. "Right, uhhh ..."

He trailed off when the demon pressed a finger to the centre of his forehead and he found himself pushed backwards until he was sat on his ass, confused. He stared at the boy when the demon started to laugh at him, unsure of why exactly such an action had been necessary. It hadn't actually hurt, not even his injuries aching from his hunched over position, but it didn't make him feel any more comfortable with the situation, adjusting his position so he was sitting cross-legged instead.

He waited until the demon was trying to organize what he'd bought over before he reached across to return the favour, shoving at the boy's uninjured shoulder so that the demon toppled sideways, not even the deal reflecting such an action in spite of it being more forceful than the last few times Castiel had pushed him.

The demon continued to laugh, propping himself up on his hand so he could mimic Castiel's arrangement.

"Thought you weren't childish," Castiel said, making himself look busy as a customer walked past them, slightly embarrassed to be seen sitting on the floor surrounded by his groceries. He was trying his best to keep the smile from his face, ducking his head so that it would be harder for the boy to see if he looked over anytime soon.

"What? So _you_ weren't being childish either?" The boy giggled, throwing a bag of salad at him. "Asshole."

"You deserved it. I'm not here for your entertainment," Castiel muttered, pulling the basket closer so he could continue fitting the food in efficiently. He took out the comic book carefully to prevent it from being creased, setting it down on the floor whilst he went about putting the less delicate items in, aware of the boy's continual stare. It didn't really bother him, knowing that his eyes had been bound to catch the child's attention at some point or another. He just didn't understand how it hadn't been noticed earlier on.

Well, 'earlier' as in the past few hours. He certainly hadn't felt anything but anguish until the restraints had been taken off, and even then, he'd still been fairly upset over the betrayal.

"Hey, you got everything you needed, right?" The demon queried, a more serious tone accompanying his words, and Castiel nodded, stilling when the fingers touched at the back of his wrist. "Leave it then. I'll just take you back to the cabin."

Castiel crammed a few of the cans in with his free hand, keen to fit as much in as possible. "No, hold on. If I do this now, you don't have to make two trips."

The demon remained quiet as Castiel kept on adding to the basket, placing the bagged fruit atop the more sturdy foods carefully. Things went faster when the boy began to help him with it as opposed to simply sitting by and watching, and although not everything fit, at least a dozen items still strewn about between them, it was far less for the demon to carry in his arms. And even then, they could pile it all on top for the transition, so long as Castiel held the basket close to his chest.

"Alright," he huffed, throwing on a couple of lightweight items before attempting to lift the basket up from the floor. He frowned at the weight, but it wasn't impossible to carry, so he steadily rose to his feet, adjusting the basket in his arms rather than holding it by the handles.

"You okay with that?"

Castiel grinned, jostling it a little as he balanced it against his hip. "This you thinking I look weak again?"

"Dude, I never said that! It just looks a little heavy. That's all."

Castiel nudged the comic book along the floor with his foot, pushing it in the demon's direction. "Don't forget to pick this up," he reminded, supporting the base of the basket with a hand. In comparison to the rock wall of his home, this was not heavy. Not in the slightest.

He waited until the boy had picked up everything from the ground before stepping closer, standing beside the child so it would be easier to transport him out of the store. But the boy didn't move to touch him or anything of the sort, looking a little further down the isle to where a man was examining some kind of packet.

"What?" Castiel asked. "You know him?"

The demon snorted. "No. Do you?"

Castiel was confused, but he shook his head slowly. "No."

"Great," the demon chirped, laying a hand on Castiel's bicep. Castiel was about to ask why the child had been staring in the first place if it wasn't out of recognition when the boy called out to the man in greeting, waiting until the man had turned to look at them before the colours were blurring and they were suddenly back in the cabin.

Castiel blinked, swaying a little as he clutched the basket to his side, glancing across at the boy when he burst into laughter again.

The demon dropped the items in his hold on the kitchen island, leaning against the smooth wood as he continued to laugh, and Castiel lifted the basket onto the surface beside it, folding his arms over the counter to rest his chin atop them, smiling.

"You're a horrible person," he teased, even if the words could be seen as truth. He himself had never gone out of his way to torment a human like that, but in all honesty, they could have witnessed something far worse than two people vanishing from a room.

But it was still cruel. The incident may not have been damaging enough to make the man appear terribly insane, but it would still affect him mentally, even if it wasn't long-term. It wasn't fair for the boy to go around traumatizing people like that, and Castiel didn't even know why he himself found it amusing.

"He'll get over it," the boy shrugged, pulling out out one of the bottles from the El Sol case. "Anyway, can we talk about you now?"

Castiel dropped his head lower so his temple rested against his forearm, letting his smile falter gradually as he let himself relax. "You mean my powers."

"Yeah. We kept getting off topic."

"Or rather, you kept getting distracted. I was prepared to answer any questions you had," Castiel pointed out, cringing as his stomach rumbled. He reached out an arm to rummage through the basket, not really caring if anything fell over the side onto the countertop, to grab one of the bags of apples and pull them closer, taking one out after fiddling around with the loose knot he'd made at the top.

"To be fair, dude, the questions aren't necessary. You could have just told me about them and I would have listened," the boy insisted, and Castiel looked him over for a few seconds, still trying to get used to the fact that _this_ demon wasn't really going to mock him for anything.

The main reason as to why he hadn't spoken without a prompt was because he hadn't wanted to mention abilities that the demon wouldn't have found interesting, and like with his eyes, he'd thought the response he'd receive would only be one of torment.

That was all it ever seemed to be.

"So you basically just want me to talk, and then you'll ask about them afterwards? Is that right?"

"I guess. Yeah."

Castiel pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he thought it over, wondering what exactly he could start with. Considering it now, there were lots of things - minor things - that he used more often than not to aid his life daily without even thinking about it, but he didn't know whether the boy would enjoy hearing about his ability to change temperature, or manipulate the woodland. He knew that the demon wanted to hear about powers similar to those in the comics: bizarre and destructive, not dreary control over nature.

He rarely used the abilities that inflicted pain because of how utterly draining they were - much like the whole healing aspect. He'd hardly had any practice with either of them, unless it was to aid a creature in the forest, or put it out of its misery.

But he knew what he'd be talking about. He _had_ used them before, after all.

It wouldn't be too difficult to keep the child's attention.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean rested his chin in a palm, balancing his elbow on his thigh as he watched Castiel mold the liquid into the shape of an unrecognizable cartridge, the beer stretched out in midair to craft a long, thin tip, sorta similar to an FMJ spitzer only Dean doubted Cas had made the core any different to the exterior. It was slowly frozen over, the dull colour of the drink turning an almost opaque grey, completely encased in ice.

"Wait, wait - you're seriously gonna show me?"

"I don't know why you're getting so excited. It's not all that interesting."

Dean swung his legs from his seat on the countertop, watching as the angel opened a beer for himself before setting it down beside the sink, pushing the hair away from his forehead with his fingers as his brow furrowed and his lips were pursed. Dean simply grinned, looking expectantly to the glass bottle when Castiel directed a hand through the air.

Cas had said it was okay - that this sort of thing wasn't at all draining in terms of his power. At least, it wasn't anywhere  _near_  as draining as the whole internal frying thing that the guy could do, not that Dean had wanted a demonstration of that anyway. For starters, it sounded gross; Dean didn't want to watch anyone’s eyeballs melt from their head - and he sure as hell didn't want to have it demonstrated on  _him_ , seeing as he was the only one around for Cas to test anything on anyway.

And again, there was the whole conserving-energy-for-the-following-day thing. That was priority, even if it meant Dean missed out on a shit-ton of awesome power things.

This one, however, wasn't initially intended to hurt anyone. Cas had basically been clever enough to use it in such a way that it was almost an inexpensive alternate to buying ammo and stuff, and regardless of whether Cas claimed it or not, Dean thought it  _was_  interesting.

"So, is this like your ultimate money-saving idea then?" He teased, grinning wider when the angel huffed out some form of light laughter, the bottle on the counter trembling a little as Castiel began to manipulate the drink inside.

"Perhaps in the colder months," Castiel told him, drawing out the beer in the form of a small bubble. "It's not that reliable during the summer."

Dean rested his chin in a palm, balancing his elbow on his thigh as he watched Castiel mold the liquid into the shape of an unrecognizable cartridge, the beer stretched out in midair to craft a long, thin tip, sorta similar to an FMJ spitzer only Dean doubted Cas had made the core any different to the exterior. It was slowly frozen over, the dull colour of the drink turning an almost opaque grey, completely encased in ice.

"Alright," the angel muttered to himself, reaching out a hand to catch it in his palm as it fell from its held place above the sink, before walking back over to Dean and offering it for him to take. Dean picked it up gingerly, attempting to ignore the harsh burn as the ice stuck to his skin, rotating it between his fingers.

"Okay, so how do you use these exactly? They don't look like they'd fire from any gun I've ever seen, and there's no primer - or propellant for that matter," Dean murmured, bringing it closer to his face, keeping the sharp point well away from his eyes. "Do you mix gunpowder in with the water when you do it normally or something?"

Even then he doubted it would work, what with the need to have some kind of ignition to set the powder off in the first place. The ice would probably only melt, or even shatter when it left the barrel.

"Cordite. Far cheaper, and depending on the gun I make the bullet for, I don't have to use much at all," Castiel stated, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. His eyes closed for a moment, almost like he'd forgotten Dean was even there as he tipped his head toward the ceiling, but then his arms were falling back to his sides and he was scratching at his jaw with his left hand. "And in terms of primers I can only make Berdan. Boxer primers completely destroy the ice, but the Berdan only crack it a little."

"How?" Dean pressed, looking at the smooth underside. "You light an explosive in a body of ice and all you get is a tiny chip in the shell? What the hell do you do to them?"

"It's not as ridiculous as you think," the angel insisted, and suddenly the ice was melting completely, dripping down Dean's arm like he'd just run his hand beneath a tap, and he grimaced, shaking the beer off purposely in Castiel's direction, hoping at least some of the residue would hit the guy.

"Did you have to melt it  _right then_? I was still looking at it."

Cas sauntered off towards where he'd left the opened beer, grabbing the bottle by the neck before taking a long drink, keeping his back to Dean all the while. Dean never got an answer to that question in particular, Castiel apparently no longer finding the topic of conversation entertaining - if he ever had in the first place.

Dean wasn't even sure if this was just another one of Cas' bizarre mood swings again or not, and yes, it probably was a bit harsh of him to continually assume that Cas was being problematic in that sense, and sure, he got that maybe he was pushing his luck by continually asking about stuff that was in actual fact none of his business; but with Cas continually going from somewhat friendly and approachable to the same cold bastard he'd been when Dean had locked him in the basement, he didn’t know what to think. Obviously that part was understandable, but Dean had been hoping that maybe they could forget about that side of events for a while.

And then he'd just accept it when Cas beat the shit out of him once the deal was over. He deserved it after all, and he wouldn't blame the guy for still wanting to hurt him after everything Dean had put him through.

"Hey, Cas?" He called, dropping down from the counter top to look over the items that Cas had organised for taking home the next day.

" _Castiel_ ," the angel corrected, and Dean rolled his eyes, fiddling with the handle of one of the thin plastic bags. He didn't get why Cas was so against Dean calling him that. It wasn't offensive in any way and it was far easier than saying his name outright. 

He glanced over to where Cas was sitting on the beam in the main room, chewing his lower lip. "Uhhh ..." he started, unable to keep the frown from his face because this was  _incredibly_  important. As soon as the deal was over - and even before that point - Castiel could choose to hurt Sam if he wanted to, and if it was down to the way Dean had treated Cas initially, then he definitely needed to apologise. He did want to trust the guy, but with Cas building up his power to prepare for the whole healing thing, Dean knew that Castiel was just as capable of taking away life as he was able to maintain it. The whole discussion of powers hadn't really helped matters, and in all honesty, as cool as Castiel's abilities were, they were also really fucking terrifying.

He cleared his throat, readying himself to talk again. "I ... I just want to make sure you know how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I shouldn't have-"

"Yes, I know. You've said it about six times now," the angel interrupted, flopping back against the wood with an arm across his eyes, similar to how he'd lain earlier.

"Yeah, but-"

"You don't need to keep apologising. I get it. You're forgiven."

"Cas-"

"Okay," Castiel grunted, sitting up abruptly and frowning. "This thing? You holding me hostage; that was an  _order_. However, unlike the demons I've had the pleasure of meeting in the past, you aren't an idiot. You listened to what I had to say, made a  _sensible_  decision, and more importantly, for the past hour not only have you been tolerable, but you have also been the first demon I've ever met to behave as if there are no differences between our races whatsoever. You're a smart kid, you're not a threat, and you've promised my good health. Stop. Apologising."

Dean drew his lip between his teeth again nervously, the heat crawling over his face when the angel stared over at him in defiance. It was beginning to make sense why Cas had called him strange if that was the reason as to why the angel was being so open in the first place: because Dean was treating him like he would anyone else he liked.

He only wished he could find it in himself to be a little more relaxed around the guy.

He looked off to the side when the angel's gaze softened, aware of how Castiel was effectively analyzing him, and he turned away completely, rubbing at the back of his neck. His dad had never said it was a  _good_  thing: his sympathetic side. It did, admittedly, make hunts that bit more draining, but he couldn't help it - and neither could Sam. 

Apparently, it was just something that came part-and-parcel with human genes.

"You've started bleeding again," Castiel commented quietly, his footsteps sounding on the wooden floorboards, and Dean looked down to his shoulder, pursing his lips. He'd almost forgotten the injury was even there, even though now that he'd remembered, he was beginning to feel the ache.

He raised a hand to pull the fabric away from the skin, grimacing a little at how clingy it was. He didn't really understand why it had started bleeding  _now_ , because it wasn't like he'd moved in a way that'd cause the wound to reopen. If anything, it would have happened whilst they'd been shopping, given the amount of times Cas had simply stopped in the middle of the isle and Dean had walked into him.

He went to take a step back when Cas came close, but the angel caught hold of his elbow, prising Dean's hand from the sleeve of the shirt before attempting to roll the fabric up. Castiel paused, staring down at the reddened flesh before sighing. "Maybe you aren't that smart after all."

Dean pouted. "Shut up. Taking the bullet out was all that mattered to me at the time."

"Yes, I can see that," Castiel frowned, pulling the sleeve back as far as he could. "You've ripped the skin and left it open for infection."

Dean didn't protest when he was shoved in the chest, avoiding eye-contact because in actual fact, he had been stupid. Here he was constantly worrying about Cas' health when he himself could get sick for ignoring his own injuries.

"Go get the medical kit, you moron," Castiel muttered, shoving him again. "You'll end up having to go to a hospital if you leave it like that."

Dean shoved Cas back playfully, attempting a smile. "Yeah, thanks mom," he joked, still keeping his eyes averted, but he shifted to the basement nonetheless, grabbing hold of the small box before teleporting back to the upper floor, purposely appearing behind the angel just to make him jump.

He was more than a little surprised when Castiel said nothing about the appearance at all, merely taking the box and setting it down on the counter.

"Roll your sleeve up," Castiel demanded, and Dean grinned, leaning against Castiel's side when he realised Cas wasn't actually bothered by his presence in the slightest. He snorted with laughter when Castiel tried to push him away, the angel practically growling out his reply.

"Just because I was honest, doesn't make us best friends."

"You don't want to be best friends, Cas?" Dean teased, doing as the angel requested anyway, trying not to let his nerves show when Castiel stretched the skin around the bullet wound. He got why Cas had been so against having help with his wounds earlier if Dean felt  _this_  nervous over something so small. "I already made you a friendship bracelet."

"This is  _hardly_  a friendship bracelet," Castiel grumbled, taking a step to the side so he could sort through the medical kit's contents. "You must be a really shit friend if you go around binding their power with spells."

"It's not that bad," Dean insisted, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter. "I do it out of love."

That earned him a glare, but Dean winked in response, even if it did make him feel hot all over. He knew that he was playing with fire by effectively flirting with the guy, but it wasn't like it meant anything. And anyway, Cas pulled funny faces when Dean was a little bit more playful.

And he went kinda pink, which was a different kind of funny altogether.

Dean continued to smile as the angel went to dab at the inflamed skin, amused by the gentleness of Castiel's actions and the concentrated look in his eye.

"So how's your back? Feeling okay?"

"Hush," Castiel whispered, holding the wipe in place as he fumbled around for what Dean could only assume was a needle.

"But you feel better or what?"

Castiel took hold of Dean's hand, encouraging him to hold the wipe in place so he could use both hands to prepare the instrument with thread. "I'd feel much better if you stopped talking. I don't want to fuck this up and suffer for it."

"Well, if you answered my question  _properly,_  maybe I'd shut up."

Castiel's gaze flickered to him again, smirking a little. "Is that a promise?"

Dean grinned, shrugging. "You gonna be honest with me?"

"Perhaps," the angel hummed, looking back to the needle as he attempted to get the thread through the eye. Dean waited patiently for the angel to continue, watching on as Cas wet his lips in concentration, his eyes narrowing before the needle was threaded and the focus was replaced with an almost smug expression; Castiel apparently pleased that he'd been able to complete the task first try.

"My back feels fine. There's no need for concern."

"Was that 'cos my medical knowledge was so impressive?"

Castiel snorted. "Oh yeah. Definitely. Don't know how I would have managed otherwise."

Dean cocked his head to the side, watching the purple in Castiel's eyes lighten.

"Now, please," the angel continued, placing his hand beside the wound. "Stay quiet."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied cheerfully, taking the wipe away from the injury so Cas had complete access.

It was a few seconds more before Castiel pinched the wound closed, and Dean clenched his jaw, looking off to the side at the first piercing burn of the needle cutting into his flesh.

"Okay, can you -  _fuck_! Stop for a second! That really fucking hurts!" He blurted, grabbing hold of the angel's wrist to stop him from pushing in any further.

"Don't be such a baby," Castiel sighed, letting go of the needle so it stayed resting against the wound, and Dean cursed, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he tried to focus on anything but the pain.

"Look, your skin's going to tear if you don't let me finish. It's bound to hurt, okay? I honestly don't know what you expected."

"I  _knew_  it was gonna hurt, but it's never hurt  _that_  bad before!"

"That's because part of it's already closed up. You're meant to take care of injuries like this as soon as possible."

"But your wounds were more important at the time!"

Castiel groaned, his forehead dropping to Dean's chest, and Dean was surprised by the action, so used to the guy pushing him away as opposed to ... well, moving closer. He didn't mind, of course. It was amusing to think that Cas wasn't as disgusted by him anymore.

At least, he  _guessed_  it was disgust. The way Cas had talked about demons before had Dean feeling kinda privileged to know that the angel was alright with  _his_  company.

"You are exhausting," Castiel murmured, his breath brushing Dean's shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, touching at the angel's shoulder. "I'll stop complaining."

"I doubt it. You haven't been able to keep your mouth shut for a full minute as of yet."

The crown of Castiel's head knocked Dean's chin when Cas went to move back, and Dean hastily let go of Castiel's wrist, not really meaning to have held on for as long as he had.

"I'll try harder," he offered, giving the angel his best smile.

Castiel pushed at him gently before placing his hand beside Dean's wound again, the angel's fingers touching around the injury with a certain caution that had relief washing over him.

But then there was something else - a sort of numbing sensation that made a form of panic return to him; the kind he'd been without for a few hours now, and he shoved Castiel back hurriedly, frightened.

"What the fuck did you just do to me?!" He cried, wincing at the sharp burn that pressed at his chest in retaliation and he brought up a hand to rub at the ache, attempting to lessen the pain. He could see that Cas was just as alarmed as he was, his eyes going wide as he reached a hand round to his back, probably in pain from Dean shoving him into the island.

"You need to relax, alright," Castiel insisted, stepping forward to cup Dean’s jaw, apparently deeming Dean’s state more important than the damage done to his back, and Dean shut his eyes tightly so he wouldn’t have to see, trying to remind himself over and over that Cas wouldn't hurt him - that Cas  _couldn't_ hurt him, for that matter. It didn’t stop him from shaking though, his heart hammering away in his chest because he knew he’d just hurt the guy. The deal wouldn’t have reacted as violently if Cas hadn’t been hurt in the process.

"It's okay, kid. I just numbed the pain," Castiel told him, his voice low and soft with a slight tremor as if he himself was panicking. "I-I should have asked for your permission first, so I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me at all."

Dean could feel his lip tremble, the warmth stain his skin, and he went to pull Castiel's hands from his face, embarrassed by his own stupidity.

“You want to sit down or something?” Castiel inquired, stumbling over the words, and Dean understood why Cas was reacting in such a way – why he was probably just as terrified as Dean was – and he hated himself for it. So far this afternoon, Cas had been fine with him. There’d been none of that worry shining through to indicate that the angel was as frightened as he’d been yesterday, in spite of the fact that the guy knew Dean could just as easily go back on their deal and kill him as soon as it was over.

He grabbed hold of Castiel’s shoulders blindly, the hands falling from his jaw as he pulled Cas close, pressing his face to the side of Cas’ neck. He tried not to think about the collar or the leash that had been tied to the guy earlier because both of those things had been cruel, and, in some way or another, had caused Castiel pain. The only reason Dean had even opted for that method of warding was so he could degrade the guy and make himself feel more superior.

Now all it did was make him feel sick.

He let out a heavy breath, finally acknowledging the lack of any sensation in his left arm. It  _should_  have been hurting from the movement of his shoulder, but it wasn’t. Dean couldn’t feel a damn thing.

“O-okay … does this, uhhh; does this mean you’re okay with the pain relief thing?” Castiel asked timidly, and Dean could only nod, his heartbeat sounding loud in his ears because  _what the fuck was he doing_?! He knew Cas was anxious, but that didn’t make their situation any more acceptable – and it wasn’t as if the guy was hugging him back or anything so  _clearly_ Cas wasn’t comfortable with what was going on.

Not only that, but Dean shouldn’t have even been daring to do something like this in the first place. He couldn’t use the excuse that he was scared because he wasn’t anymore. He was  _fine_. He should have known better than to work himself up over something so small and then proceed to fucking throw himself at the closest person to him just to find some form of shitty comfort.

It was the hand that came to rest on the back of his head that persuaded him to stay as he was for a little longer, slumping against the angel’s chest as he tried to relax completely.

“I didn’t mean to push you into the counter,” Dean mumbled apologetically. “It didn’t reopen your wound or anything, did it?”

Castiel huffed out a laugh. “I think you should stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself, you bizarre creature.”

Dean let himself smile, his arms going slack when Cas went to move away, and he glanced off to the side out of embarrassment, his face still incredibly warm.

“Just to make things clear, so you don’t go freaking out on me again – although I will admit that it was my fault, and in no way do I blame you for the way you responded – I have no intention of harming  _or_  killing you or any of your family members.”

Dean nodded again, looking down to his shoes when the angel tried to catch his gaze.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know. I mean, it’s kind of amusing, but I’m not going to laugh at you for being sensitive,” Castiel murmured, ruffling Dean’s hair almost tentatively, like he’d expected Dean to punch him for it or something.  “You’re a fucking kid. You shouldn’t even be hunting.”

“I’m not incapable,” Dean ground out, but still he avoided Castiel’s line of sight, not really comfortable knowing that he’d put Cas in an awkward position.

“I never said you were incapable. I said you were young.”

“ _You’re_  young.”

The angel snorted. “Not as young as you.”

It fell quiet after that, the both of them just standing in the kitchen with the dim lighting above them, tiny rays of sun gleaming through the cracks in the wooden boards shielding the windows.

“Okay. Go and sit down, and I’ll finish what I started,” Castiel muttered, pushing him back in the direction of the main room. “Go on.”

Dean did as he was told, keeping silent even when Castiel sat beside him on the beam, the medical kit placed carefully on the floor. Castiel seemed to prefer the quiet, but then of course he would. He’d been asking for Dean to stop talking for ages, so it really wasn’t any surprise that the angel went about everything with this serene expression and a calmer air to his actions – not that Dean had stared at him or anything because he didn’t exactly want Cas to have a go at him for that as well, but he snuck glances when he knew Castiel was completely engrossed in what he was doing, kinda alarmed by just how well Cas was treating him.

He couldn’t  _feel_  it, but seeing it was enough for him to wish that he had all his senses back to normal. Even his dad never stitched up wounds for him with  _that_  much care, and sure, it was probably out of pity more than anything else, but it was still kinda nice – especially since Dean had put nowhere  _near_  this much effort in when he’d cleaned up Cas’ injury before.

“So, are you going to tell me what your plan is?” Castiel asked, pushing the needle through Dean’s skin with apparent ease as he made yet another neat stitch to seal the wound shut.

“I already told you what we’re doing tomorrow,” Dean reminded him, watching as the angel dabbed at a trail of blood with a cloth, ensuring that the flesh was clean at all times, so it seemed. “I’m gonna wait for my brother to call, and then –“

“I mean after that. Once you’ve taken me home. What then?”

Dean swallowed, looking down to his hands on his lap. He hadn’t actually planned that far ahead; like, he knew he could go and ask Bobby for a place to stay that night, but he didn’t even know if that was a definite yet. The guy could be out on a hunt for all he knew, and Dean didn’t want to let himself in without permission, even if he could do as such without so much as a snap of his fingers. They might know each other, but there was no way Dean was breaking into the house of a family friend, regardless of whether he’d be welcomed or not.

“My uncle said I could stay with him. I’ll go there after getting all my stuff from the motel.”

“And you’re going to continue to hunt?”

Dean shrugged, toying with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t really, uhhh … I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Good,” the angel hummed, and Dean looked over in confusion, the heat returning to his face when he found Castiel staring right back.

“If I had the same powers as you, I would have given up hunting a  _long_  time ago. I’d get out of this ‘family business’ whilst you still can,” Castiel continued, glancing back to the wound as he brought the scissors up to cut the end of the thread, giving it a last wipe around with one of the antiseptic cloths before pulling Dean’s sleeve back down, concealing the injury.

“How long have you been hunting for?” Dean asked, watching Castiel’s expression darken and the corners of his mouth twitch down in a frown.

“Long enough."

*

Castiel sat down in front of the cabinets in the kitchen, the boy beside him with a little over a foot between them, and a virtually silent atmosphere. It was nice to not be expected to initiate conversation, and what made it better was the fact that the demon had finally quieted down, having kept silent for almost a full half hour. It was assuredly the longest the boy had gone speaking to him during the time in each other's company, and for the first time in what felt like days, Castiel didn't have anything particularly stressful to think about.

Well, he  _did_ , but he'd done a fairly good job of avoiding those topics whilst the boy had read beside him, the noise of pages turning almost soothing to hear.

It didn't really bother him: how close the demon sat. Not when he knew just how damn terrified the kid had looked before. Of course, the power he held over the boy was what he'd wanted, but it wasn't as satisfying as he'd thought it'd be to see what kind of results it produced. He'd thought the boy was on the verge of hyperventilating or even deeming Castiel a threat. All he'd wanted to do was make things a little easier.

But to have the complete trust of a demon was something he wasn't used to. This boy was being open and not at all judgmental - apart from perhaps being a little mocking, but that was nothing new. Castiel could tell that it wasn't to be taken seriously and that the child was only teasing, and it wasn't at all daunting in comparison to the way the hunters that worked for Crowley talked to him.

However, it was the way in which the boy sought comfort that really unsettled Castiel - and not just because he had no real experience in the matter. The boy had had a kind of ... hands on approach since the very beginning, but the gestures had never been particularly kind. Helpful, maybe, and then others were just because the demon  _could;_  yet the hug (if they could even call it that) seemed to be more in favour of reassurance than anything else. Castiel didn't mind too much, mainly because he knew the boy was incredibly vulnerable right now with his current situation. The crying earlier had proved that he most likely hadn't prepared himself to be without the family members he usually lived with, but Castiel didn't actually expect him to. This wouldn't exactly be an easy transition, and although the demon had prepared a place to stay, he doubted the boy would be okay just because of that fact. It truly wasn't fair on the child for him to even have to move out - more so when he would most likely still be expected to hunt with whomever he stayed with. An uncle was still a member of family after all, and if this was a business where they all took part, the demon was bound to have difficulty getting out of it.

It wasn't anything Castiel wanted to get involved in, not that his opinion would be appreciated should he voice his concerns. He doubted the rest of the demon's family was as peculiar as the boy was himself, more so given the fact that his father had been the one intending Castiel's murder.

He stretched his arms above his head, yawning, before rubbing at his eyes and resting his face in his hands. He was still exhausted, even if he could finally feel the benefit of the food, his Grace making him feel lighter and stronger than before.

"You know, for someone who basically slept until midday, you really do look tired, dude."

Castiel looked over for a moment, smiling slightly. "When'd you throw me in the basement?"

The boy stilled, his expression going virtually blank. "Uhhh ... d'you mean yesterday, or this morning?"

"This morning," Castiel murmured, facing forward again as he suppressed another yawn. 

"Like, seven-ish. Almost eight."

"Right," Castiel said softly, his voice muffled as he rested his face in his hands again. Five hours was longer than he usually got, but his sleeping pattern had been pretty fucked up as of late anyway. The whole werewolf hunt thing had practically kept him awake for two days straight, and then staying awake all night last night hadn't exactly helped either. Well, it had helped him fall asleep quicker, but that only brought with it the nightmare.

He couldn't win.

Castiel turned his head once more, the boy's green-eyed stare still trained on him.

"You won't mind if I go back down to the basement, would you?"

"Why the hell would you want to go back down there?"

"I want to go back to sleep," Castiel told him, closing his eyes for a while. "I need to get as much rest as I can."

"Yeah, but ..." the boy sighed, before Castiel heard him get to his feet, and he did the same, his vision going somewhat bleary as he steadied himself. "You're not sleeping in the basement though. I don't even know how you managed to find it comfortable before."

"It wasn't comfortable. It's concrete floor."

"No, but I mean, like, how you actually managed to sleep down there in the first place," the demon stressed, looking back at him as they walked through to the main room.

Castiel averted his gaze to the small wood carvings as they went by the mantle, honestly rather impressed by the demon's talent, even if he'd ignored the boy's comment earlier.

"I didn't go to sleep last night, so I was too tired to actually care."

"Oh. Okay," the boy said quietly, leading Castiel through the doorway. Castiel looked around him, noting most obviously the couch that rested in the far corner of the small room, and he could feel some sort of relief wash through him, genuinely grateful that he wouldn't have to sleep down in the cold room.

"So, uhhh, you know. You can take the couch. If you find it too cold during the night, I guess you can light the fire, but given that it's summer, I kinda doubt that you'll, uhhh ... yeah. Anyway. I'll see you later - o-or tomorrow," the demon rambled, placing a hand on Castiel's back to prompt him forward. 

Castiel allowed himself to be guided over to the settee, looking back in confusion when he acknowledged the complete lack of anything else but an open duffel in the room.

"And you're sleeping  _where_  exactly?"

The boy smiled at him, drawing away slightly so he could head on back to the main room. "Don't go trying to make things difficult. You don't have to keep worrying about me just 'cos I'm younger than you."

Age had nothing to do with it. There were a few things about the demon's situation that he could relate to and it wasn't fair of the child to give up what he'd clearly used as a bed the night prior, even if Castiel himself would prefer to sleep on the couch than the floor, but who wouldn't? It was assuredly more comfortable than a granite or wooden flooring.

"Yes, well, I'll be awake again in a few hours to give you your bed back," Castiel muttered, running his eyes over the boy's posture. He couldn't tell if the boy himself was tired or anything of the sort, but the kid had clearly had an early start to the day if he'd come down to the basement so soon in the morning anyway. It wasn't like Castiel would be able to stay asleep for any longer than usual, and given the fact that the clock in the kitchen had read four in the afternoon, Castiel knew he'd be awake by at least ten. He'd just sit in the other room or something whilst the boy slept, unless of course, the boy allowed him to go outside for a while - perhaps even permit him to go home. That would make the whole grocery thing a lot easier, and with the amount of energy Castiel now had stored, he'd easily be able to fly home and back without relying on his Grace too much.

"Dude, just go to sleep. I don't really give a shit if I have to sleep on the floor or not."

Castiel pouted, and the demon grinned at him, practically skipping out into the main room.

"Sweet dreams, Psylocke."

Castiel's hand immediately went to his brow, shielding his eyes even if the demon was no longer around to see, but he could hear the light laughter as the boy made his way back to the kitchen and that was enough to have Castiel unsettled. He hated his eyes at the best of times, and for the demon to continually address the change was incredibly infuriating. He let out a heavy breath as he sat down on the edge of the couch, vowing to disparage the boy's own eye colour the next time the kid compared him to that Godawful comic book character.

He pulled off his boots, drawing his knees up to his chest as he settled into a fairly comfortable position. He couldn't help but notice the lack of any real bedding aside from a wilted pillow for him to rest his head on, and he sat up, finally realising how wrong he'd been.

The demon hadn't simply had a change of heart; he hadn't been tormenting Castiel with false hope or feigned actions of kindness, and the fact that the demon had given Castiel the only fucking blanket he had when there was a  _blatant_  draught coming in through the chimney stack was something else altogether. He knew  _now_ that the demon was ultimately sincere in terms of his gestures, aside from the few obvious instances in which he'd been joking, but Castiel honestly hadn't expected the boy to be this fucking selfless right from the get go - more so because the child was a demon! Yeah, the kid may be decent, but for him to give Castiel something he was bound to need once the temperature dropped at sundown honestly had Castiel wondering as to whether the boy was even a demon or not. All Castiel had done yesterday was shout at the kid and hurt him, not to mention shooting him in the shoulder and having an incredible temptation to cut his throat, and yet  _still_  the demon had given him a damn blanket.

Castiel really didn't know what to make of it. He felt slightly saddened to know that the boy had been encouraged into hunting when it seemed that he was more sympathetic and considerate than Castiel was himself, completely contradicting the demonic stereotype altogether.  _Angels_  were meant to be the compassionate ones - the creatures that did nothing but want to help - and here Castiel had found a demon that seemingly shared the same characteristics.

The boy had given up warmth, his home, and his fucking  _family;_  all for Castiel's benefit.

Castiel couldn't remember ever doing anything so generous for anyone, let alone a member of the enemy species.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn’t actually considered it prior: what the demon’s brother looked like. As siblings they were bound to share similar characteristics, and although there was also a possibility this theory was just as bizarre as the few Castiel had come up with before, he knew that there was a chance this ‘Sam’ would share the same unnatural eye colour as the demon before him possessed.

Castiel didn’t bother returning to the main room, curling up on one of the cushions to free as much space as possible as opposed to outstretching; just in case the kid came in at a later point and decided he  _did_  mind as to whether or not he slept on the floor. Castiel didn’t even mind sleeping in a seated position so long as he didn’t come across as selfish as he felt.

He wasn’t really all that surprised when he awoke to the same absence he’d fallen asleep to, stretching out on the couch as he rubbed at his eyes. It was colder in the room now, a light whistle echoing off the walls from the draught, and Castiel wakened himself properly, brushing all thoughts aside regarding his prior nightmare before attempting to stand. The darkness didn’t exactly help his eyesight, but he was used to the lack of lighting in his own home, so finding a suitable method in terms of enhancing his vision was fairly simple.

The orb of light floated before him, dim in intensity to conserve his power, but it illuminated enough for him to make out his surroundings, the floorboards a dark shade of grey and the objects blatant shadows. It made things much easier as he walked to the doorway, his lack of footwear meaning he went about it silently, even if his intent was to wake the demon from wherever he slept.

Castiel didn’t have to look around much at all, finding the boy lain out across the beam with the comic on his chest and an arm behind his head, his light snores barely audible until Castiel came within a relatively close distance. He rolled his eyes when he realized just how open the kid had left himself, more so considering how very frightened the boy had been before. The demon hadn’t attempted to protect himself in any way – that included keeping a weapon beside him – and it wasn’t like the location was any better.

And then there was the fact that the demon hadn’t even bothered to retrieve the blanket from the basement to keep himself warm.

Castiel sighed, heading on past the kitchen unit to locate the hatch in the floor, bending down to open it slowly in a manner that wouldn’t wake the kid just yet before stepping cautiously down onto the stairs below. He ordered the light ahead of him, mapping out the remaining steps so he wouldn’t fall and injure himself, his head spinning at the mere thought. There wasn’t much of a banister for him to support himself should he lose his footing, and he doubted it would hold his weight regardless of whether he relied upon it for anything more than he already was, the splintered wood trembling with every stair Castiel descended. It was beginning to make sense as to why the boy opted for teleporting down here as opposed to taking the stairs each time, even if that also had something to do with laziness. It was nowhere near as difficult ascending the stairs as it was making the journey down, nor was it as stressful. Castiel couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved when he made his way to the ground in near blindness, pleased that he’d succeeded in doing so without coming to any harm, and he made his way to the opposite side of the room, the small light reflecting off the little remains of the chain tied to the wall and the water bottles left on the floor. He gathered the three remaining bottles in his arms in addition to the blanket, still not overly keen on the idea of drinking the tap water without anything to purify it with, yawning as he turned to return to the upper floor.

He coaxed the light to dim even more once he reached the first floor again, attempting to adjust his eyes to the darkness so he wouldn’t have to rely on his power any longer, placing the water bottles on a counter in the kitchen before going back over to where the boy lay on the beam.

Castiel dropped the blanket to the ground, stretching once more in an attempt to stop his upper back from feeling so stiff, even if it pulled on his wound a little in the process, but it didn’t really hurt that much. It was healing much faster now and Castiel doubted there’d even be any scarring left once it had healed completely.

“Hey,” he voiced, when he let his arms fall back to his sides, reaching out a hand to jostle the demon’s chest lightly, somewhat unsure of how he should even go about waking the kid in the first place. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d forcibly woken anyone up. If he spent the night at someone’s he never awakened them when he went to leave, and if they woke before him he generally avoided any kind of conversation in fear of them pursuing another encounter, knowing that a relationship was out of the question. There weren’t exactly any other instances in which he’d ever had the option of waking anyone, other than maybe his parents when he was younger, but he barely remembered those moments as it was.

And anyway, this was a  _child_. Castiel couldn’t exactly shove him over as a wake up call like he would if it was any other demon – not that he’d ever had the opportunity to do so, knowing that if he ever attempted something of the sort it’d most likely end poorly for him – and he didn’t particularly want to cause the boy any more harm as it was, regardless of how humorous it would be to do so in this instance.

He shook the boy again, kneeling down beside the demon because his posture was starting to pull on his wound a little more than he was comfortable with, and he grinned when the boy weakly pushed at his hand in his sleep, grumbling some form of incoherent nonsense.

“Hey,” he repeated, moving his hand nearer to the kid’s shoulder when the boy shifted a bit, understanding that it wouldn’t exactly be painless for the demon to fall on that side if he was going to roll off in any direction. Castiel wasn’t really in the mood for cleaning up the wound if the stitches ripped so early on.

“Go ‘way,” the boy grumbled, shoving at Castiel’s wrist pathetically before trying to roll over again, and Castiel let him, biting back his laugh at the sound of the thump and the quiet ‘fuck’ muffled against the wooden floorboards.

“You alright?” He asked, folding his arms on the wood before resting his chin atop them, trying to keep the taint of laughter from his voice as he watched the boy push up on his hands.

“I hate you,” the demon muttered, sitting back on his haunches and rubbing his eyes. Castiel kept quiet, burying his smile behind his arms when the boy glanced over with some exhausted form of a scowl on his face, squinting a little at the light Castiel kept beside him.

“Can you, like, turn that off or something? It’s really friggin’ bright,” the boy grimaced, slumping against the opposite side of the beam as he ran a hand down his face, his voice husky and subdued, almost like he was trying to be as quiet as possible.

Castiel snorted, but did as he was asked, even if the light wasn’t even at full intensity. It may have just been closer to the boy in comparison to himself, but it wasn’t like Castiel needed it to see anymore. He had the natural light of his Grace to ensure at least a little clarity whilst he stayed seated, even if it barely compared with the orb he'd used prior.

“So, why you wakin’ me up?” The boy asked him, mimicking Castiel’s position so they were facing each other across the beam. The kid’s eyes were lidded and he was blinking profusely, squinting on occasion like he was having trouble keeping them open. “You have trouble sleeping?”

Castiel found it relatively amusing for that to be the first thing the boy addressed, given the fact that the child was acting more like some kind of parent figure than anything else. He was only seeing as such now because he could remember the few times his parents had questioned his own nightmares as a child – not that they were anything like the ones he was encountering these days. He could barely remember dreams and the like relating back to his childhood, but that wasn’t of any importance right this instant. The point was, even the gestures before had been somewhat parental, given the fact that the boy was putting Castiel’s needs first. It was stupid really, and it only made Castiel feel worse about the way he’d treated the child, even if at the time he’d thought the boy to have deserved it.

“Two things,” Castiel started, keeping his voice soft like the boy had, not like there was any need for him to increase the volume or anything of the sort in the first place. He could see that he had the demon's attention. “First of all, like I said earlier, you can have the couch now. I doubt I’ll be able to fall back asleep even if I tried, so there's no point me keeping you from sleeping there instead.”

“But I said –“

“I don’t care what you said. I’m not using it,” Castiel insisted, watching the boy’s brow furrow. “Now, the second thing was that I wanted to know if you’d permit me to go home so I could take the groceries back without having to wait until after I heal your brother.”

The demon pulled a face, dropping his forehead to where his arms lay. “You woke me up ‘cos you wanted to use me as a pack mule?” The demon groaned. “Can’t it wait? I mean, it’s the middle of the night. I’m  _tired_.”

Castiel couldn’t really be bothered to point out that it wasn’t, in fact, the middle of the night. Ten thirty was more like it, give or take a quarter hour, but he didn’t know how long the kid had been asleep in the first place. He’d actually expected the child to be awake when he’d first considered the time, surprised that the boy had gone to bed at a reasonable hour.

Castiel didn’t even know why he was thinking about such pointless things. He wasn’t going to keep the demon up for very long at all.

“I never asked for  _you_  to take me home. I requested you let me go on my own. I can take everything myself,” Castiel told him, watching warily as the demon raised his head, expecting some sort of glare to be aimed his way, but instead the boy’s expression was stoic and unreadable, almost as if Castiel hadn’t asked him a question at all. It did unsettle him a little, unsure if the boy had indeed heard him or not, but he waited patiently as the demon blinked at him through the darkness, his irises almost a golden grey in comparison to their regular green.

“No,” the kid said simply, looking off to the side and pouting. Castiel continued to stare at him, slightly annoyed even if he had nothing to be particularly annoyed about. If anything, he should have been somewhat relieved that the demon had actually thought about things this time. The kid was actually being sensible by saying as such.

The demon’s eyes flickered to him again, the boy’s brow furrowing. “What? I don’t want to risk anything, okay? Sammy’s too important.”

“No, no; I understand,” Castiel replied, sitting back briefly so he could push the hair from his forehead, slumping down into his former position when it was marginally less irritating.

He knew that the child had given up a considerable amount to ensure Castiel’s health – in addition to his own brother’s – and in spite of how trusting the boy was otherwise, Castiel really didn’t see any need to question the demon’s decision. It wouldn’t have been particularly fair of him to pursue the topic anyway, knowing that he was still going to be taking his groceries back regardless of the time they decided upon.

“I’m still not letting you sleep on a block of wood though,” Castiel reiterated, reaching down to pull the blanket from the ground before thrusting it in the demon’s direction, smiling at the light noise of surprise.

“Dude, I’m not sleeping in there. It’s fine."

"Well, I'm not sleeping, period. What's the point in you turning it away when I have no intention of using it?"

The boy frowned, resting a cheek on the clumped up mess of a blanket as he met Castiel’s stare confidently. "What's wrong exactly? Why can't you sleep?"

Castiel didn't exactly feel comfortable talking about it, more so when he took into consideration the fact that he still wasn't certain as to what it was he was seeing in these dreams. Talking to a potential cause could have its benefits though, and Castiel was beginning to wonder, if by some coincidence before him  _was_  the character from his night terrors, whether or not the child would also share the same bizarre dream, if not in a different perspective.

Castiel didn’t know how it worked – or even if that was the case at all – but it’d be wiser to address the topic as opposed to leaving his questions unanswered forever.

"Nightmares," he stated warily, and the demon hummed, rolling his lips between his teeth.

"My brother has a lot of those. Dad made me get him a bunch of sleeping pills," the boy said, shrugging. Castiel could feel the doubt drown his thoughts at the mention of the child’s brother, somewhat intrigued by the knowledge in a way that also made him slightly anxious. He hadn’t actually considered it prior: what the demon’s brother looked like. As siblings they were bound to share similar characteristics, and although there was also a possibility this theory was just as bizarre as the few Castiel had come up with before, he knew that there was a chance this ‘Sam’ would share the same unnatural eye colour as the demon before him possessed. It wasn’t too ridiculous a thought, even if the nightmares of someone else had no relevance whatsoever.

"I read somewhere that it’s bad for kids to take though - gives them a higher chance of dementia or something. Not sure what kind of effect it has on adults in the long-run but I have some in my bag if you want them."

"I don't really feel comfortable taking medication," Castiel mumbled, watching the demon physically relax against the beam, the boy’s face scrunching up briefly as he clearly tried to get comfortable. "I know it's intended to help, but I feel safer relying on my Grace. I don't know what kind of reaction I'd have to something foreign."

"'Kay," the demon yawned, nuzzling against the blanket as his eyelids drooped. "Don't blame you, to be honest. I don't let Sam take 'em even if dad tells me it'd do 'im good. Don't know what's in the damn things."

"Smart," Castiel commented, letting his eyes close for a few seconds as he adjusted his position, his chin resting on his arms again. "How old is he; this brother of yours?"

"Sammy? Just turned twelve," the boy said slowly before he fell quiet, and Castiel couldn’t help but feel rather disappointed. The boy in his dreams was in that region of age, but they’d remained the same ever since the nightmares had started up four years ago. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes lazily to show the demon he was still listening, observing the way in which the child twisted a corner of the blanket in his right hand. "Couldn't even take him out for his birthday. Poor kid was too weak to get out of bed."

"You still haven't told me what's wrong with him," Castiel prompted, addressing what he should have quite some time ago. "What am I healing him of exactly?"

The question seemed to waken the boy a little more, the demon's frown deepening and his fingers clenching the material held in his palm.

"I-I don't know. He's, uhhh ... he gets these headaches and burning pains in his chest, and even doctors don't know what it is. I mean, one minute he's fine, the next he's passing out 'cos the pain's so bad and it's just ... it's fucking horrible for him."

Their eyes met and Castiel smiled at the demon sympathetically, his heart clenching at the saddened smile he received in return. Although the kid was blatantly tired, his expression still held so much emotion, and Castiel stilled at the sight of tears in the boy’s eyes, clear as day even through the darkness. He hadn’t realised it was such a sensitive subject, and he certainly hadn’t intended to upset the demon as much as he blatantly had by addressing such matters.

The demon glanced away in what Castiel could only assume was embarrassment when Castiel got to his feet, and he stepped over the beam quickly to sit at the boy’s side, touching at the demon’s uninjured shoulder to get the child to look at him, even if it did nothing to gain attention in the slightest.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Castiel said gently, his head feeling heavy when the demon continued to look in the opposite direction, and he curved his arm around the boy’s shoulders tentatively, understanding that this time around, the boy was probably trying not to show his distress as much as he had earlier on.

It took a few more moments before the demon turned toward him, arms winding around Castiel’s waist almost delicately as his face pressed to the centre of Castiel’s chest, and Castiel rubbed the top of the boy’s back when he felt the first touch of tears soaking into his shirt, the child trembling against him.

"I h-haven't even t-told him yet," the demon sobbed quietly and Castiel couldn’t help but pity him, the air catching in his throat as he went to voice some form of apologetic reply. He didn’t know how close the boys were, but clearly that was the person the demon cared about most in this scenario. Castiel had heard the boy speak more of his brother than anyone else, and although it did have something to do with the healing aspect, Castiel wasn’t an idiot. The boy was concerned, and unlike his father, he’d actually ensured that his brother would have care by pursuing the safest option available to him.

Castiel frowned when he realised the demon was on the verge of hyperventilating; the boy’s breaths beginning to sound audibly sharp and rushed as opposed to their prior virtual silence, and as uncomfortable as it made Castiel feel, he pulled the boy closer, the kid's hands clawing at his shirt almost as if he thought Castiel had been about to push him away.

"He's gonna h-hate me so fucking much, Cas – he's gonna  _hate_   _me_!"

"He is  _not_  going to hate you," Castiel said sternly as the demon seated himself in his lap, the boy's arms loosening when Castiel rubbed at his back a few more times, unsure of how he could even go about making the demon relaxed.

"But he needs me! I need to look after him a-and I fucking can't!" The demon blurted, and Castiel froze at the first touch of the shadow to his thighs, the dark essence twining around his legs in a way that he sincerely hoped was unintentional. He shut his eyes as he tried to distract himself, curving a hand round the back of the kid's head to stroke through his hair, trying to calm him down before the shadow went wandering any higher. He knew the demon probably wasn't even paying attention to what his shadow was doing in the first place, but it still didn't help matters and it was starting to make Castiel feel more than just a little claustrophobic.

"You're a kid," Castiel whispered, the boy's face finally resting in the crook of his neck, making their positioning a bit more comfortable. "You shouldn't be assuming responsibility when it’s your father's job to look after the both of you."

The boy continued to shake against Castiel’s chest, his breathing gradually slowing and becoming lighter in sound as if the demon was trying to compose himself. The shadow lingered on his legs for at least five minutes more, simply resting there and keeping Castiel in place, even if Castiel had no intention of moving away just yet. He wanted to make sure the boy was okay before he did anything so heartless, having not seen the demon this utterly vulnerable before.

He rubbed a hand up and down the boy's back again, focusing on the demon's breathing pattern rather than the dark tendrils that dragged down over his shins.

Castiel was beginning to find it incredibly difficult to handle though, so unused to being relied upon for comfort or anything of the sort. Castiel felt even worse when he took into consideration how the boy wasn’t able to console someone that cared for him – not that Castiel was insensitive enough to say that he didn’t care for the boy’s wellbeing at  _all_ , but they weren’t close. Castiel actually thought himself the worst person for the demon to confide in at this point in time.

This was effectively his fault: the loss of a family – the  _abandonment_  – and Castiel couldn’t do anything to change it. The boy knew now that the blood of an angel held no healing properties, and there was no way Castiel would attempt to persuade the child to kill him anyway, even if it meant the demon wouldn’t have to live without his fucking family.

And in terms of help, what could Castiel offer?

Nothing. He had absolutely fuck-all to his name, and he lived in a damn  _cave_. Castiel couldn’t even give the boy money; or if he did, it would be very little – possibly only enough to rent a motel room for a few nights.

That was still better than nothing though, right? And it would make him feel better to know that he’d provided the kid with shelter should he need to use the money for such a thing.

Castiel didn’t know how much the demon had told his uncle regarding the situation, but Castiel was beginning to worry that they too would cast the boy out for disobeying orders.

He didn’t know what to think. He felt like shit for being the root cause of the problem in the first place and it wouldn’t hurt to consider all the possibilities. At least then he could make things easier for the boy as best he could.

He twitched a little when the demon let out a shuddering breath, tears still dripping against Castiel’s neck, and Castiel rested his chin on the top of the boy's head timidly, unsure of even his own actions at this point.

"I'm sorry, Cas," the boy sniffed. "I-I didn't mean to ... I don't usually-"

"It's okay," Castiel assured him, stroking through his hair again. “I don’t usually let anyone near me, so, you know. Sorry I’m so shit at the whole comfort thing.”

The demon huffed out a laugh, sounding forced and slightly pained, and Castiel could feel the ache in his chest worsen, memories of his own childhood unwantedly rising to the surface.

“It's okay.”

They didn’t talk again for a long while after that, and it took Castiel far too long to realize as to why that was. If it had been a different situation – if the boy hadn’t been crying into his shoulder earlier on – then Castiel could have quite possibly laughed at the utter absurdness of it all; but this was far too fucking depressing for him to even try and find it relatively humorous.

He carefully manoeuvred himself so that he could pick the boy up in his arms, wincing at the pull on his back before starting on over to the room he himself had fallen asleep in, finding the task relatively simple with the strength of his Grace aiding him. He lowered the boy onto the couch as gently as possible, modifying his position so the demon wasn’t cramped in the slightest before going back through to the main room so he could retrieve the blanket and ensure the boy's warmth.

Castiel was too restless to even bother attempting sleep again, regardless of whether he knew trying would be pointless, and he spent the majority of his time sitting at the entrance of the cabin, staring up at the sky from his cross-legged position on the floor. He did admittedly check up on the child numerous times during the night, not really feeling comfortable with leaving him alone for too long, but he always returned to the doorway, remaining inside of the cabin so the kid wouldn’t kick up a fuss when he woke up.

Castiel wasn’t going to go against the demon’s wants despite having the opportunity to do so now. He didn’t want to breach the trust the boy had in him.

*

The sun had barely risen when Castiel was joined in the doorway, the sunlight making the floorboards glow with this bold, orange colour, and Castiel cast a glance across at the boy when the demon sat beside him, the child keeping silent without so much as a question regarding why Castiel was even there in the first place. Castiel wasn’t really sure of what he himself could say, not that the boy was giving the impression that he desired conversation anyway.

But then, that was a stupid assumption of him to make and he quickly ignored the thought altogether. The child was one of the most talkative people Castiel had ever met, so to assume that the demon would be content with silence was a rather ridiculous presumption.

So no: he wasn’t at all surprised when the boy initiated a conversation. He’d known to expect it.

"Have you been out here all night?"

Castiel hummed in response, looking to the sky again. Unlike where he lived, the trees here concealed most of the sky from view - more so when Castiel looked off to the far distance. At home he could simply walk out and see over the treetops for miles. It was a sight he knew he'd never attain should he ever afford an actual apartment or house for himself.

"Look - about last night-"

"If this is going to be yet another apology, then I suggest you don't finish that sentence," Castiel interrupted, resting back on his hands as the warmth of the morning sun washed over him.

The boy cleared his throat. "A-actually, I wanted to say thank you. For not being a dick about it. I was kinda expecting you to just tell me to fuck off."

Castiel kept quiet, slightly offended that the demon would have thought as such - especially since Castiel had been the one to offer comfort upon noticing the boy's distress - but it also saddened him to hear something of the sort, understanding that perhaps the child hadn't had many good experiences with comfort in the past.

"N-not that I think you're a mean person or anything, 'cos you've been nice to me and you don't seem like ..." The demon trailed off when Castiel fixed him with a stare, unsure of where exactly the boy was attempting to go with his speech. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to, uhhh ... it's just that I wasn't really expecting you to ... at the time ..."

"You're not really making much sense," Castiel told him in amusement, watching the light blush stain the boy's skin as the child pulled at the threadbare denim of his jeans, clearly making it something of a nervous habit. "But regarding the situation, I didn't mind. It was my fault for upsetting you in the first place, and I'm not entirely comfortable with the thought of you leaving those you love for my benefit," he shrugged, rubbing at his brow. "A kid your age shouldn't be essentially blackmailed into fulfilling a task - let alone by the likes of your father. It's fucking disgusting for him to abandon you when all you did was make a choice to protect your family. He should be proud of you for thinking things through."

It was only now that Castiel  was beginning to realise just how very hypocritical it was of him to both think and say such a thing. Although he was usually as analytical as possible when it came to making a decision, there were times where he was indeed rash with his choices - more so when he'd been given a specific order. Changing his mind wasn't exactly something he could afford to do when he was paid to kill, so he didn't ever give sympathy a chance to mar his judgment, and yet here he was: grateful that his life had been spared, when if their roles had been reversed and Castiel had been asked to murder the demon, he wouldn't have ever given talk a chance. He would have killed the boy without thought.

And he wouldn't have cared.

"I'm guessing your parents were really laid back when it came to hunts then."

Castiel sighed, smiling. "I told you before: my parents weren't hunters."

"Fuck ... yeah, sorry. I forgot about that," the boy murmured before falling quiet, looking down to his hands. Castiel watched the boy's expression, the slight confusion that furrowed his brow and the concentrated look in his eye.

"Wait - did that mean you guys lived like humans then?" The demon blurted suddenly. "Like, with jobs and shit?"

Castiel snorted, resting his chin in a palm, unsurprised by the question. "Yeah. I guess."

"So, what did your parents do if they didn't hunt? Did you guys have a house?"

Castiel grimaced, turning his gaze to the trees outside. "Seriously? You actually care about that crap?"

"Course I do," the boy replied excitedly, shuffling closer. "I don't think my family ever owned a house. My mom said she used to live in one when she was really young, but her family were hunters too so she was on the move a lot."

Castiel hadn't heard the boy mention his mother before - he'd just assumed that the woman was dead, given the high probability of death associated with hunting, but now he wasn't as certain. If she  _was_  alive, did that mean she was also behind the bleeding ideal, or did she not know?

Did she even live with them anymore?

Castiel didn't particularly want to ask, even if what the boy was asking of him was rather personal. He was trying to humour the child in a way, wanting the demon to continue about the next few hours in the same cheerful manner.

"We did have a house," Castiel informed him, forcing a smile as he tried to lighten his own thoughts, consecutively avoiding anything that would later make him uncomfortable to think about. "It wasn't that big, but there were only three of us so it wasn't like we needed the extra room."

"So it was just you and your parents?"

Castiel nodded. "Their jobs weren't that exciting. My mom used to work for, uhhh ... I can't remember the name of the company, but she was a secretary. And I  _think_  my dad worked in a bakery. It was that or some cafe. He'd come home with leftover pastries and stuff, and he always smelt like bread, but I don't know," Castiel shrugged, letting out a sigh. "It was years ago. I don't remember it that much."

The boy went quiet again, and Castiel shifted in his seat nervously, praying over and over that the kid wouldn't question why Castiel didn't lead a 'human' life now. He was sick of the other hunters mocking him for his misfortune, and although this boy was different, it was still a thought he was extremely uncomfortable with - more so when he considered just how much he'd confessed to the child as of yet. 

It wasn't that he doubted the boy, because the child was doing as Castiel had asked regarding the manhandling and subtle objectification, but Castiel was so used to everyone having some form of preconception in terms of his history and abilities that he never bothered to explain himself, knowing that no one would have listened to him anyway.

Here he had a person that seemed genuinely interested in what he was, as opposed to being mocking and cruel, and Castiel found it far simpler to converse with the boy than he ever had with Crowley or even his employers prior. But that was the issue. Castiel didn't know if he was talking too much or saying just enough to be deemed as an acceptable answer, but if he was talking to excess, the boy could quite easily sell information on him once they'd parted ways. It was another reason as to why Castiel was so against letting the boy know the location in which he lived. If he gave  _that_  away, then Castiel could quite simply find himself dead in a week or so's time, bled dry or simply executed out of spite.

As much as Castiel wanted to trust the demon beside him, he simply couldn't risk something like that to happen.

*

Dean knew he'd made things awkward without even having to look at Castiel's expression. Well, he'd looked anyway and had been kinda used to the distant look in the angel's eyes, but it was just ... well, the guy had been smiling like, literally moments before Dean had asked about the whole family side of things, and right now, Dean was desperately trying to find a way he could smoothly change the subject.

He didn't know if mentioning his own parents again would be a good idea, and although Cas hadn't outright said it, Dean got the impression that asking about Castiel's parents would be a bit of a shitty move to make. Dean didn't know what had happened to Castiel's family to land the guy with a job in hunting over that in a bakery, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna ask. Castiel had been open enough as it was and it would be downright harsh of Dean to address yet another thing that was absolutely none of his business.

"I used to want to be a firefighter," he voiced quickly, and the angel looked over at him after a few more moments, his expression nowhere near as tired as it was when Dean last checked. Confused, maybe; but not tired.

Castiel smiled weakly, and Dean grinned in response, facing forward almost immediately as the heat crawled up the back of his neck. He knew he shouldn't have been getting embarrassed over something so stupid 'cos Cas didn't seem like he was gonna take the piss or anything.

Castiel was actually kinda sweet, even if that was an incredibly sappy and ridiculous thing to say, but Dean was beginning to find it really easy to like the guy.

Which was probably only going to make things worse.

Dean had met a  _lot_  of people over the past few years, but they moved around so often that Dean saw them once - maybe twice if he was lucky - and rarely was it ever for longer than an hour. 

Dean had been in Castiel's company for almost two days. Well, the first day didn't really count because not once did they have a pleasant form of conversation, but now he just found Cas so ... approachable. Like, the guy might not necessarily care about the subjects Dean addressed, but he still listened and responded - and as for the whole comfort thing, Dean sure as hell hadn't thought Cas would willingly encourage it. He was actually surprised Cas was even allowing them to be this close now, and yes, maybe Dean had done it on purpose, but he'd thought Cas would have at least tried to move away like he had all the other times Dean had left so little distance between them. He hadn't expected their shoulders to bump virtually every time he took in a fucking breath.

Dean didn't even know if it was still down to pity, but that's all he wanted to believe right now. Castiel didn't seem like the sort of person who went around making friends with demons, and Dean highly doubted the guy was relying on him for friendship or anything of the sort. 

"You still haven't told me your name, you know," Castiel mumbled softly, and Dean could feel the tips of his ears burn, embarrassed that he hadn't thought to say earlier. He'd been wondering why he'd been repeatedly referred to namelessly, kinda irritated by being called 'kid' when in actual fact he was way closer to adulthood than being seen as a  _child_. It wasn't like Cas was much of an adult himself - if anything, he just looked like a ninth grader with stubble and a well-toned ...

Never mind.

"Dean," he replied, and the angel laughed lightly, their shoulders brushing again as Castiel outstretched one of his legs.

"I was actually expecting something a bit more flamboyant if I'm totally honest," Castiel teased, and Dean backhanded him across the chest in response without thinking, relieved when once more, the deal didn't respond.

"You don't hear me laughing at your weird-ass name,  _Castiel_. At least mine's normal," he argued, unable to keep the smile from his face when Cas pushed at his head gently, long fingers sweeping through his hair.

"But 'Dean' is so average, and you're so  _not_ ," Cas insisted, encouraging Dean's blush to worsen, but he took the comment in stride, confidently meeting Castiel's gaze.

"So, basically you're saying I'm too cool for my name?" Dean questioned, and the angel grinned, looking away as his hand fell from the top of Dean's head.

"Not exactly, but feel free to believe that if you want."

Dean slumped against Castiel's side, welcoming the gentle pat to the top of his back, and he pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his cheek atop them.

"How come you don't like me calling you 'Cas'," he asked, dragging his eyes from Castiel so he could watch the sky. He found it kinda amusing that the guy had sat out here on his own, and given the fact that everything was still left in the kitchen, he knew that Cas probably hadn't gone home at any point. The sky did look pretty though, even if he didn't understand how the angel could have watched it for so damn long.

"Uhhh ..." Castiel started. "I don't really have a reason anymore."

Dean pursed his lips in confusion. "What, so you're okay with me calling you that now?"

"Do what you like. However, if you're planning on bitching about me to anyone, I'd prefer if you used my  _actual_  name. They'd probably only take the piss out of you if you gave the impression that we're well acquainted."

"Why'd they take the piss out of me?" Dean asked, looking up at him again. "You're awesome."

The angel laughed again, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink. "Yeah, you should  _definitely_  avoid saying that. Just avoid compliments altogether."

"But why? Surely if I said good stuff the other demons would be more comfortable around you?"

It was actually starting to worry him because he'd been intending to sing Castiel's praises when referring him to another hunting firm, but if Cas was saying it was stupid, then how the hell was Dean meant to give a good impression?

"It's got nothing to do with personality or actions - just race. It's like fear, only they feel more threatened, and no offense, but you're just a kid. They're not gonna take you seriously if you say anything nice. They didn't even take the humans seriously when I was praised for my hunts."

Dean frowned. "Do they not care at all?"

Castiel shrugged listlessly, and Dean ducked his head almost immediately, knowing he was probably only going to make things uncomfortable for the guy if he continued to pry.

"Do you want me to leave you alone now so you can continue meditating or whatever it was you were doing before?"

The angel smirked. "Meditating? Is that something you assumed yourself, or did your father plant that idea in your mind?"

"Well, you were just sitting there doing nothing, y'know? And I know you get pissed at me 'cos you like the quiet and all, so I don't mind actually leaving you alone till we have to go," Dean mumbled, chewing on his lower lip.

"I get pissed because you never fucking shut up," Castiel chuckled dryly, rising to his feet, and Dean scrambled to follow, stumbling as he made his way out the door. "The conversations are interesting enough, but you talk so damn fast and I don't understand half of what you go on about."

Dean tripped a little as he rushed outside, his face burning up when the angel seemed to turn out of reflex and grab him by the biceps, holding him steady.

"Be careful," Castiel chided, and Dean smiled apologetically, looking down to his feet when Castiel began to stare. He shouldn't have been getting so flustered - not when it'd probably only induce further embarrassment - but he didn't know how to act around the guy; now more than ever. Cas didn't really seem to give a fuck about anything anymore, and it was kinda confusing given how touchy Cas had been only the day before. 

He got that the angel was trying to be nice, and he did appreciate it, but it was fucking annoying as hell to think that that was  _all_ it was. Castiel didn't necessarily  _like_  him; it was more down to pity and something along the lines of thinking it required of him to be pleasant, and it sucked because Cas really was cool.

Well, obviously, most of the reasoning behind that was down to what the angel could do power-wise, and Dean didn't know the exact opinion Castiel had of him, but he wasn't going to outright ask about it. He didn't need to make himself appear anymore desperate than he already had the night prior.

Sure, he didn't have many friends - if  _any -_ but given what Cas had said about the negative views associated with even thinking the guy relatively okay, Dean guessed that it was probably wiser for them to just go their separate ways and keep it that way.

Dean didn't exactly want to shame his dad even more by befriending a damn angel. Not when he wanted to be taken back in as soon as possible.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was warm in the room, the air conditioning clearly faulty, but it was nice in general. Bright, moreover. Castiel hadn't set foot in a motel like this in years. He'd rarely relied upon them - only when a hunt was too far away for him to have enough energy for his flight home. He didn't particularly like spending money on things he didn't need, but he felt more uncomfortable now at the reminder that this was Dean's life; that the motels served as Dean's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god it's been longer than a month hasn't it? has it been two months?  
> crap, guys, i'm really sorry. my writer's block has been terrible lately and I know this chapter is short, but if i get my priorities sorted, i'll have finished writing the next chapter by monday.  
> feel free to complain about the quality of my writing. i know this chapter sucks and i'm rushing things ahead, but i'll do my best to improve the story - especially when i've practically written the end already.  
> okay, maybe the end is like, a dozen or so chapters away, but whatever.  
> (maybe that parts a lie. it's gonna be a tad bit longer than 22 chapters)
> 
> for all you guys who read fragment and were wondering when i'd finally get my ass in gear, i'll update tomorrow. i know i kinda left that one for a long time too, but after tuesday's episode, i was really in the mood for writing angst and the chapter's pretty much almost done.
> 
> i hope everyone has a happy easter, and i apologise again for my inability to meet deadlines.

Castiel looked up through the trees, plucking at the grass beneath his hand as Dean slumped against his side, the boy's head dropping to his shoulder. They’d been seated in much the same way for a while now, Castiel not really caring how little space was issued between their forms. It would be pointless to shove the boy away when it clearly made Dean more comfortable, and it wasn’t as if Castiel had any reason to do so. In actual fact, he didn’t mind how they were positioned. The demon wasn’t harassing him, and although he shifted on occasion, it wasn’t all that irritating.

“You’re being very quiet,” Castiel commented softly, his hair flopping down in front of his eyes when he turned his gaze to the weapons on the ground beside him; the barrel of his gun probably clogged with the woodland dirt. He couldn’t be bothered to deal with it right now, and as hypocritical as it was, Castiel was tired of the silence. Dean was both strange and amusing, and it wasn’t so much an instigation out of pity because Castiel truly wanted to talk.

He wanted to know if the kid would be okay.

Dean shifted again, twirling a fallen leaf between his fingers. “I’m just thinking ‘bout stuff,” the boy murmured, clearing his throat as if to continue speaking. He didn’t though, merely staring down at the dried foliage in his hand as if it held the answers to the universe.

Castiel hummed in acknowledgement, resting all of his weight back against the tree trunk as he kept pulling at the grass beside his hip. He wasn’t overly fussed as to whether or not Dean wanted to converse, but if he had a preference, he’d very much like to talk. It wouldn’t be long until they would finally part ways, and although Castiel still looked forward to that moment in time, he also continued to worry about how the demon intended to go about life on his own.

He’d asked about it numerous times, but it was a genuine concern of his. He didn’t like to think that Dean would share the same childhood Castiel himself had lived, and if Dean didn’t get out of hunting soon, he’d most likely end up spending the rest of his life earning little to nothing just to get by. It made Castiel feel sick – especially when he knew there wasn’t anything he could really do to help with that. All he could do was hope that the demon’s uncle was generous enough to allow Dean to live as he wanted.

“Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, subconsciously adding the _‘tiel’_ to the end of the nickname each time the boy voiced it. He didn’t have the heart to tell Dean to stop being lazy by calling him as such, knowing that he’d only have to put up with it for a few hours more. It wasn’t overly annoying, but Castiel still didn’t like it. Even his parents had called him by his full name and they’d been far closer to him than anyone else Castiel had ever met, and he didn’t feel comfortable being given a nickname by someone who, in reality, he didn’t know at all.

Pointing this out wouldn’t exactly be favourable, and Castiel had no intention of upsetting the demon by insisting he stop again. Dean wasn’t doing it out of spite; simply indolence.

“Are you actually okay with … this?” Dean questioned, and Castiel could see the boy’s face redden slightly from the corner of his eye, making him smile. “You’d tell me if you were uncomfortable or something, right?”

Castiel huffed out a laugh. “All we’re doing is sitting together.”

“But you said, uhhh … you said you don’t usually let people near you, and –”

“Is that seriously what you’ve been thinking about?” Castiel interrupted, trying to contain his laughter. “Do you not think I’d have said something earlier in the cabin if I had an issue with you sitting beside me?”

Dean pouted. “You _did_.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Before you proved you were actually a _decent_ person. My past experiences with your kind haven’t exactly been _fun_ , Dean, so I apologise for being cautious to begin with.”

Dean didn't say anything in question, keeping quiet whilst Castiel let the grass blades fall through his fingers to the dry, patchy soil distractedly. The ground was relatively warm to the touch in spite of how shaded this part of the forest was, but it was far cooler than the grounds directly outside the cabin. Castiel had stalled there for a while whilst he'd mapped out his surroundings, wanting to retrieve his weaponry from where he'd left it abandoned two days ago. He didn't care much for the gun, seeing as it had been loaned to him from Crowley's hunting firm, but the blade had been his father's and he had no plans to leave such an inheritance behind.

"Wait - did you just say I was _decent?"_ Dean blundered, and Castiel looked to the boy again, surprised to find him staring back from where his cheek rested on Castiel's shoulder. His blush had become far more obvious and his eyes were as bright as they always seemed to be, but Castiel hadn't really taken in anything else the last time he'd viewed the boy at such a close range.

Not that he'd wanted to.

"What's wrong with that?" Castiel asked in return, watching the demon smile faintly in response.

"Does that mean you actually like me, and this isn't just you doing some charitable comfort thing?"

Castiel stared at Dean in confusion, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean, 'charitable'?"

"Doesn't matter," Dean replied, drawing his knees up to his chest to hide his smile behind them. Castiel continued to stare at him, somewhat anxious. 

Had he really given such a bad impression to begin with that Dean had thought all his actions were done out of pity?

Well, yes, maybe Castiel _had_ initially welcomed the close proximity so that the boy wouldn't be left to feel stressed or alone, and perhaps he did pity Dean, but it was in the way that anyone would a child who was being effectively abandoned and it shouldn't have been seen as a _bad_ thing. 

Regardless, Castiel liked the demon. A little.

He was about to voice as such when the shrill noise of Dean's phone cut through the air, and suddenly the boy was scrabbling forward as he drew it from the pocket of his jeans, fumbling and cursing as he went to answer.

"Sammy?"

Castiel watched the grin pull at the corners of Dean's mouth, his face still stained pink, and Castiel smiled when their eyes met, pleased that the demon was looking a lot more cheerful.

Although, if Castiel was going to be totally honest, he wished the call had come much later in the day.

*

Dean lifted the back of Castiel's shirt cautiously, cocking his head to the side and crouching a little so he could get a better view. Cas shifted slightly, his hands smoothing down the sides of his jeans, and it didn't take much for Dean to realise just how uncomfortable the angel was. Of course, Cas should have probably thought about what the whole situation would involve when he'd asked Dean to check up on the dressing in the first place.

"I think you're all good here," he told the guy quickly, shuffling a few steps away so he could give Castiel space. "There's no blood on the bandages or anything, so yeah. Your back should be fine."

"Thank you," Castiel murmured, reaching a hand around to tug the fabric back into place, albeit kinda haphazardly. "How does your shoulder feel?"

Dean smiled softly, kicking his feet against the floorboards whilst Cas sorted himself out. "Pretty good actually. Bet I could do windmills and it still wouldn't hurt."

"Please don't try," Castiel requested sternly. Well,  _kind of_ sternly. Cas wasn't all that good at the 'I'm-an-adult-and-you-should-do-what-I-say' side of things. Not anymore at least. Now it was just bordering on a lazy attempting at upholding dominance.

Dean followed the angel through to the kitchen, pursing his lips as he slowed his lengthy strides, maintaining a certain distance between them both. Cas looked at him somewhat curiously, his eyes animated and bright as he hooked the sleeve of Dean's shirt with his fingertips, prompting him closer.

"You promised you'd help now, Dean," Castiel grinned, and Dean smiled back sheepishly, feeling a little giddy when he took in just how close they were. It felt so odd to have Cas actually pulling him over, not that he was gonna complain or anything because he could tell that everything about Castiel's actions was genuine, and he liked it anyway.

He liked _Cas._

"How we doing this exactly?" Dean asked, stepping into the touch until Castiel's grip loosened. "Is there anywhere you feel comfortable letting me take you?"

Castiel pursed his lips and Dean reached for the metal basket, dragging it over the island. It wasn't as full as it was yesterday, but Cas had eaten some of the fruit and Dean had taken out his own stuff so it also shouldn't be anywhere near as difficult to carry.

That didn't mean Dean expected Cas to find it just as easy after healing Sam.

"Where I told you to drop me off," Castiel murmured, taking the basket by the handles. "I'll pick it up later."

"You don't have to walk far or anything, do you? Are you gonna be okay?"

"Shut up, Dean," the angel huffed playfully, prodding him in the ribs with his free hand as he raised the basket from the counter, letting it swing to his side. "Don't worry about that."

"Cas -"

"You'll only waste time by arguing," Castiel insisted, walking around him, apparently not needing any help whatsoever.

"We have _hours!"_

"Yes, so by the time I'm done healing your brother, I'll have a while to rest," Castiel informed him, heading on over to the main room. "I'd have thought you'd want to get this out of the way sooner so you could spend longer with Sam."

"I-I do, but ... I'll be able to see _Sam_ again ..." Dean trailed off, looking down to his feet because he didn't want to see what kind of weird stares Cas would give him in return.

But what Cas had done and said since yesterday afternoon meant a lot. Dean was used to going off on his own to deal with all his personal shit, and he'd never realised just how much better it made him feel to have someone actually  _listen._ Castiel could have easily just fucked off back to the storage room last night, but he hadn't, and Dean was so fucking grateful Cas chose to stay 'cos he really didn't know what the hell was going on in his life and he'd just needed some kind of reassurance to get him by.

Okay, so Cas was still a little intimidating, but he was a nice enough guy and he'd helped Dean deal with everything better than John would have. And that only reminded him of the whole bullet wound thing again because Cas blatantly cared in ways that Dean expected from his brother, not a damn stranger.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Castiel started, and Dean rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, his confidence dropping at the detection of humour in Cas' tone. "But did you just basically imply that you're willing to give up spending time with your brother so you can make the most of your time with _me_?"

"When you say it like that it makes me sound like a complete douchebag," Dean muttered, kicking at the floor again. "But yeah. My, uhhh ... my dad can't stop me seeing Sam when he leaves to go off on a hunt, so I _know_ I can still check up on him. It's not like ..." He gestured in Castiel's direction pathetically. "I mean, you've been nice to me, y'know - nicer than the hunters my dad's friends with anyway, and that's even after all the shit I put you through - and you actually talked to me, and listened, so of course I want to make the most of it when you're the only person who actually seems to care," he rambled, looking up again.

Castiel wasn't staring at him with the expected air of amusement, his head cocked to the side out of apparent analysis more than anything else, and Dean could feel the flush burn up the back of his neck, making him feel even more uncomfortable with the whole thing

"Give me your phone," Castiel requested quietly, stepping closer with his hand outstretched.

"W-what?"

"Your _phone_ ," the angel stressed, setting the metal basket down on the floor. "Just for a moment."

Dean drew it out in confusion, holding it with trembling hands. He didn't even know why he was shaking so much, but he was simply grateful Cas didn't remark on it, gently taking the phone from him without saying anything at all. Dean nudged at a loose nail in the floorboards with the toe of his boot, focusing his line of sight on the ground whilst Cas went about doing whatever. He knew the angel wasn't gonna trash it or anything, not that it could end up looking any worse in the first place. What he also knew was that he'd have to buy himself a new model soon if he wanted to stay in contact with Sam in the near future. He probably shouldn't have let himself get angry enough to break the fucking thing in the first place but he couldn't exactly go back in time so it was pointless to complain. Getting a new phone wasn't exactly a challenge anyway. He'd just have to scrounge up some money to pay for it beforehand.

He took his cell back in hand when Castiel held it out for him, staring down at the glowing screen.

"I'll talk to you whenever you like," Cas said softly, petting Dean's uninjured shoulder before picking up the basket again. "Now get your priorities sorted and take me to see your brother."

"Y-yeah. Right. Okay," Dean rushed out, and Castiel laughed, looking back over his shoulder.

"Hurry up, Dean. I'd rather not have to meet your father."

"No, I don't wanna ... don't think about that, Cas," Dean muttered, walking past to get to the store room, keeping his focus trained on the new contact details inputted to his phone.

He could feel his chest tighten the longer he looked at, tearing his eyes away the moment his shadow curved up the wall. 

The number  _looked_ genuine enough, but that didn't necessarily mean it  _was._ He hadn't thought that Castiel would even  _want_ to meet, or talk, or anything else, let alone give Dean his fucking  _cell phone_ number, but he didn't exactly want to accuse Cas of giving him false details because Cas just didn't seem like the sort of person who  _would._

Dean didn't want to believe it was fake anyway. Not when he'd finally have the chance to talk to someone whenever he wanted - someone who (hopefully) wouldn't mind listening to his bullshit problems when he got too worked up to keep everything bottled away.

Well, he knew not to phone up in the middle of the night, and it would be stupid to phone too often 'cos he didn't want to annoy the guy, but it was kind of nice to know that Cas was offering to listen, and talk, and just _be there_.

Dean sat down on the settee when he reached it, bundling up the blanket and pillow before stuffing them into his duffle as best he could. His hands were still a little shaky and he took in a deep breath to try and compose himself, closing his eyes as he toyed with the strap of his bag.

He should have been a lot more relaxed than this. John wasn't gonna show up, or, at least if he did, Dean would make sure both Sam and Cas were protected. Obviously Cas' safety at this point was a tad bit more important seeing as he was the only one who could actually cure Sam, and John wouldn't ever dream of firing a round at the kid so Sam was pretty safe as it was.

Dean was just grateful Sam was a hell of a lot more liberal than their dad was, regardless of the excessive amount of angel-related myths they'd grown up believing. Sam had never been afraid to question the reliability of John's stories, even if their dad had seen that as more of an ignorant charm than anything else. It was what Dean was relying on though. He hoped Sam would still be open-minded when it came to meeting an _actual_ angel, but it wasn't as if Cas was all that touchy anymore so he'd give a fairly good first impression if he went in acting in the same manner he had for the past day.

It kind of excited him to be honest: what Sam would think when he met the guy. More so now when Dean flaunted just how comfortable he and Cas were around each other.

"You okay there, Dean?"

Dean nodded timorously, rubbing at his jaw as he went to stand, throwing his duffel over his shoulder. "Really wish you hadn't reminded me 'bout my dad though," he joked with a small smile, walking over to where Cas stood in the doorway. "He's gonna kill me for letting you anywhere near Sam."

Well, it wouldn't simply be for letting a fucking angel screw around with the kid. Everything about this was going against John's orders, but Dean felt good knowing that in doing so Sam would genuinely be okay. He'd rather not think about what his dad would have resorted to after finding out that angel blood didn't work at all.

"Do you want me to speak to him?" Castiel questioned, and Dean stared at him seriously as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"I'm not sure how effective that'll be. He's not really the listening type," Dean told him, reaching out to take hold of Cas' arm. "The only reason I'll be seeing him later is so I can prove that you didn't kill me. He might be kicking me out, but I don't want him worrying about whether I'm dead or not - especially when he'd try and hunt you down for revenge, or something equally as stupid."

Castiel went quiet and Dean cleared his throat.

"So where'd you say? Montana?"

"The, uhh, the border. Between Montana and Idaho, I mean. Please."

"Can you give me a little more than that? I don't know either state particularly well so you're gonna have to give me some kind of direction."

Castiel pouted, adjusting the basket against his hip. "Well, the north of the forest, really. The mountains aren't hard to miss."

"You want me to drop you off in a _forest_?" Dean grinned.

The angel rolled his eyes, his irises bright blue. "Yes. I do. Can we go now?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh when Cas stumbled against him and Dean fell back against a tree, his duffle crushed behind him as the basket spilled out over the ground.

"You _asshole_!" Castiel blurted, shoving at him. "I told you to warn me before you did anything like that!"

"You said, and I quote, 'can we go now'. _Now_!" Dean giggled, pushing at Cas in return. "If you weren't ready, why the hell did you ask to leave?"

"Shut up," Castiel grimaced, kneeling on the floor to start putting everything back in the basket.

Dean stooped down to help, checking for damage in the cellophane before handing it to the angel to pack away.

"I can pick you up some more stuff if any of it's, like, inedible now," Dean offered, dumping his duffel down on the soil.

"It's fine, Dean," Castiel sighed, throwing in the last of the bagged fruit.

"So, uhhh," Dean started, glancing around. "Is here okay?"

Cas hooked the basket on a low branch as he got to his feet, narrowing his eyes as he looked to the stream.

"Yeah, this is great," the angel said brightly, all annoyance vanquished from his tone. "Will you be able to bring me back here _exactly_? I know my way around this area."

Dean pushed a hand through his hair, getting a better look at his surroundings. It shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as this was the only place between the states that he'd mapped out as a location. It might not be perfectly accurate, but Dean would try as best he could.

"Sure," he shrugged, and Castiel turned to him, smiling.

"Thank you."

 *

Castiel leant against the far wall; his hands linked together behind his back as Dean crouched beside the bed opposite, talking softly to the boy _in_ the bed. It was rather endearing to watch how gentle Dean was, having never seen the kid interact with anyone other than himself.

Castiel didn't mind waiting when he could experience Dean's kindness from a different point of view.

It was warm in the room, the air conditioning clearly faulty, but it was nice in general. Bright, moreover. Castiel hadn't set foot in a motel like this in years. He'd rarely relied upon them - only when a hunt was too far away for him to have enough energy for his flight home. He didn't particularly like spending money on things he didn't need, but he felt more uncomfortable now at the reminder that  _this_ was Dean's life; that the motels served as Dean's home.

Castiel had never liked to ask about how the other hunters housed themselves, but for him, it was far too risky to buy a place somewhere in the city. And expensive. Motels were expensive too sometimes. Castiel had a feeling this room wasn't particularly cheap.

There weren't any grimy stains on the carpet, and there was the faint scent of an aerosol that, in the cheapest of places, was usually distinguishable as a car freshener.

But it would be stupid to house an ill child in an unhygienic environment, so Castiel understood as to why they'd rented out a room like this.

Castiel chewed on his lower lip nervously, smiling when Dean glanced over at him.

"This is, uhhh ... this is the reason why I'm so concerned about what'll happen to you," Dean murmured, his fingers pushing Sam's hair from his brow. "I don't want you passing out in the middle of the forest."

Castiel waved it off, ducking his head a little as he stared down at the pastel blue carpet. "Please don't worry. There's nothing dangerous about those woods."

Dean was quiet for a little while, and Castiel wandered over to the spare bed, seating himself on the edge of the mattress. It was far more comfortable than the futon Castiel had made for himself back home, but this wasn't constructed from dead foliage and childhood clothing so it wasn't all that surprising.

"You want to start on him now?" Dean asked softly, reaching out to touch at Castiel's knee.

"Not whilst he's unconscious," Castiel replied, resting his chin in a palm. "I don't want to frighten him."

"He'll be okay," the boy grinned, looking back at Sam. "Well, he'll be a lot more accepting than I was anyway."

"Really?" Castiel inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Does that mean I won't be asked as many questions?"

"Doubt it," Dean huffed, and Castiel reached out with his free hand, plucking a twig from the demon's hair. "But you'll probably end up preferring him over me."

Castiel snorted, tossing the stick to the side. "Why'd you say that?"

The boy laughed lightly, his hand falling from Castiel's leg when he moved to jostle Sam once more. "'Cos he'll shut up when you tell him to."

Castiel didn't know whether he should have felt saddened or amused by that comment, but he brushed it from his thoughts, focusing yet again on Dean's actions as he went about waking his younger brother.

From what Castiel could see, there weren't many similarities between their facial features - and Dean's hair was a lighter shade of brown, close to that of a dirty blond. Of course, Castiel was more interested in the colour of Sam's eyes than his facial structure, no matter how far fetched his thoughts on the matter were. He still didn't know whether Dean's eyes were down to genetics or not, but it wasn't as if asking would have done him any favours. He didn't really want to insult the child in terms of why they were so peculiar, more so when he took into account just how thoughtless he'd been the day before; addressing the colour more out of spite than curiosity.

Dean hadn't seemed to care, but he could have been masking anything behind that bold front of his. Castiel had been alarmed by just how scared Dean had been of him, so it wouldn't be at all surprising to think that Dean had been hiding his discomfort along with such an upset in the first place.

He continued to contemplate such things for what felt like a further five minutes; long enough, it seemed, for Dean to suitably awaken Sam and instigate a conversation, quiet as it was. Castiel could see the effects of the boy's illness within moments of Dean attempting to sit the younger demon upright, wincing each time Sam slumped back down in the sheets after Dean's many attempts at propping him up comfortably against the pillows.

That resulted in Dean acting in the place of the pillows, an arm wound around Sam's shoulders as he joked about how pathetic the younger boy looked.

Castiel was more than a little surprised when Sam came back with a sharp reply, elbowing Dean in the ribs with a frown on his face. He was actually rather amused that, in spite of being blatantly ill, the younger demon still summoned the strength to combat Dean's irritating habits.

"You okay now, douchebag?" Dean teased regardless, chucking Sam under the chin.

"You were meant to be here a half hour ago," Sam groaned, his voice somewhat hoarse, and Castiel smiled, watching Dean roll his eyes.

Dean went on to murmur something before Sam's eyes met Castiel's and the kid was grinning, raising his hand in a wave and letting out a shy 'hi'.

"Hello," Castiel greeted, holding his smile. He hadn't expected the demon's approach to be as confident as this, even if Dean had told him that Sam would be more accepting, but it was certainly more preferable than being feared or deemed inferior.

"Now, I know I didn't exactly _tell_ you he was coming, but Sam, this is Cas. He's the one who's gonna heal you."

It didn't take long for Castiel to realise that Sam's eyes matched that of the average demon, and he resisted the urge to look at Dean's again, analysing the younger boy's features cautiously. He was rather relieved to know that Sam wasn't in any way affiliated with the nightmares, but again, that brought his thoughts back around to Dean and _his_ eye colour. Now certainly wasn't the time to ask about it, but seeing as Dean had his number, if the demon _did_ choose to call, then Castiel could address it on a different occassion.

Or even just before they parted ways today, because future conversations weren't exactly a guarantee - and Castiel had offered for Dean's benefit, not for his own.

But Castiel didn't know how much longer he could go on enduring such dreams without asking at least _one_ possible cause, and even if Dean had no answers, at least Castiel would have tried to figure it out.

"I know," the boy chirped, looking up at Dean for a moment. "He was in my dream last night."

Castiel brought his attention back to the conversation before him, his mouth going dry. "I-I'm sorry - _what_?"

Dean went to say something, but Sam spoke over him hastily, apparently insistent on speaking for himself.

"I can see the future sometimes," the younger boy told him with a vague air of pride. "And you were in my prediction."

Castiel looked to Dean in alarm, meeting his eye. Dean didn't share the same worrisome expression, but it wasn't like this news would exactly be all that disturbing to someone who already knew their brother possessed such an ability. Dean simply smiled at him in what seemed to be apology for not mentioning the possibility of this occurrence, going on to mouth out a 'sorry' whilst Castiel still held his gaze.

"Right," Castiel murmured, sitting back a little so he could link both hands in his lap, putting on a more confident front as he thought over the situation. He wasn't particularly worried knowing that it was down to a demonic talent as opposed to a genuine connection between their two entities, but it was yet another power that Castiel had considered rare amongst demons. It was bizarre enough to know that Dean had multiple abilities, but he hadn't for a second thought about what kind of powers the younger boy could possess.

"I'm assuming you didn't see anything bad?" Castiel followed up curiously, his heart pounding in his chest no matter how much he tried to relax. It bothered him to think that this child could see what he couldn't - more so at the thought of the few choices he had at his disposal.

He wasn't even sure if he was going to pay Crowley a visit yet, but if the youngest demon had seen the outcome of _that_ then Castiel knew Sam would have been no where near as welcoming as he still continued to be.

"You helping my brother is anything but bad."

Castiel rolled his lips together, nodding slowly. He both did and didn't want to know what Sam meant by that, deeming the demon's health far more important at that moment in time, so he moved across to where both boys sat on the bed, his face warming at the sight of Dean's broader smile.

"Well, right now I'm here to help you," Castiel began quietly. "A-and Dean hasn't really told me much about what, uhhh, your illness involves, so would you be able to describe it to me?"

Sam's eyelids drooped a little, and Castiel could see the weariness return to Sam's form, Dean's arm tightening around the boy's shoulders. The two shared a glance before Sam was talking again, his voice lower and significantly less cheerful, and Castiel almost regretted changing the subject of conversation so soon.

"My chest burns a lot," Sam whispered, staring down at his hands. "It always hurts."

Castiel swallowed thickly, trying not to think about how much pain Sam had to endure on a daily basis.

"Dean says the pain has caused you to fall unconscious before. Is that the only side effect or are there more?"

The boy began to fidget, his hands clenching the edge of the white comforter. "It changes everyday."

Castiel looked to Dean. "And he's been given no diagnosis whatsoever? Not even a hint as to what's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Apparently no one's ever heard of something like this before."

Castiel took in a sharp breath, rubbing at his brow. "Okay, uhhh ... Sam, I'm gonna need you to relax, alright? It's not going to hurt you, but it might feel a little strange."

"That's fine," the younger boy murmured, his head lolling against Dean's shoulder.

So Castiel reached out, pressing two fingers to the centre of Sam's forehead before sending in a light pulse of his Grace to scout out the most significant point of agony. He'd initially thought that beginning where the pain was strongest would be the best idea, but within the first second of flooding the boy's veins with his energy he found that it wasn't entirely possible.

 _Everything_ was pain.

It may have been _strongest_ where the demon had claimed. but it wasn't by much, and it was only because it was a different kind of sensation altogether that Castiel chose to focus in on it, drawing it into his own form as fast as he could.

He grimaced at the sight of the black veins in his right arm, the poison seeping into his circulatory system with a sharp burn, and he looked away out of disgust, closing his eyes and cursing over and over again in his mind. It was beginning to sting the entirety of his forearm, the muscle feeling as if it were tearing despite the lack of any movement, and he broke away abruptly to catch his breath, only to fall forward as his vision spun, the dark energy continuing to spread toward his shoulder.

He wasn't expecting Dean to catch him, forgetting all too soon about the child's ability to teleport, but in spite of the comfort Dean's chest and arms provided for his positioning, it didn't prevent the eruption of fire in the top of his torso.

Castiel screamed as the hot sensation spiralled through his body, the taste of blood filling his mouth within moments of his throat constricting, and his knees gave out beneath him, his forehead falling to Dean's solar plexus as the blood spilled past his lips, dripping down his chin.

And then there was nothing; the darkness swallowing everything as his Grace pulsed dull and useless in the centre of his form, gradually slowing with the beat of his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel was being his regular self, aside from the whole illness thing 'cos that had blatantly affected his appearance. His Grace still wasn't particularly bright, even if it had flared a little when Cas had first regained consciousness, but the same thing had happened when Cas had started healing himself in the basement so Dean wanted to go ahead and assume that the whole dim-light thing was because Castiel was healing himself; but again, he didn't know much about angels in terms of what their Grace was capable of. Castiel could be way worse off than the impression his appearance gave.

"Fuck! _Fuck_ , Sam! He's not fucking breathing!" Dean shouted, hastily encouraging Castiel's limp body to lay back against the floor, and he reached for the angel's wrist, checking for a pulse - checking for fucking _anything -_ because Castiel's Grace was effectively non-existent, and there was blood running from his mouth, and everything Dean felt at that point in time revolved around panic because this sure as fuck wasn't a good sign! There was no pulse - no movement - and Dean didn't have a fucking _clue_ how he could fix it!

This had never happened to _Sam_ before! Sure, there were times where the kid had fallen unconscious and he'd been in pain, but he'd never started haemorrhaging or had those creepy-ass vein things crawl up his arm.

 _And_   _he'd never stopped fucking breathing_!

" _Sam_!" He yelled again, lowering himself above Castiel to listen out for even the smallest fucking breath, just in case the past thirty seconds hadn't given him enough evidence as to what Castiel's situation was, but he was fucking _terrified_ because the whole point of him bringing Cas here in the first place was so that Cas _wouldn't_ die; so the angel would be fucking _safe_ , yet here he was lying unmoving on the damn carpet with blood all over his chin like Maggie  _fucking_ Fitzgerald!

And like _fuck_ was Dean going to forget that scream! He was surprised no one had come knocking at the fucking motel door yet because Cas hadn't held back in the fucking _slightest_!

"Sam, what the fuck do I _do_?!"

“I don’t know!” Sam replied, and Dean turned Castiel’s face toward him, frantically trying to remember everything he’d seen the doctors do on TV.

Obviously fiction was pretty different to reality and Dean didn’t even know if the doctors in Dr Sexy MD were even accurate in terms of anything they did procedure wise, but Dean didn’t have anything else to go on. He couldn’t risk wasting time by googling some medical shit when Cas was already lifeless in his arms, no matter how helpful that information may or not be.

So he lay Castiel down flat against the ground, tilting the angel’s head back to clear the airways – or whatever the fuck it did – before layering both palms over the centre of Castiel’s breastbone to perform a compression. Forty presses in and Castiel still wasn’t responding, Dean’s panic increasing with every moment Castiel continued to go unmoving.

Dean pulled back abruptly, running a hand through his hair before he was pinching the end of Castiel’s nose, ignoring the blood as he dipped down to slot their mouths together, exhaling slowly.

He tried again. And again.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he chanted, moving to repeat the compressions for a second time.

 _He didn’t have a clue what he was doing_!

It didn’t help that he could see Sam watching him from the bed because it was embarrassing enough to be seen this panicked, but to have Sam watching him perform mouth-to-mouth on another dude was even fucking worse! Yeah, maybe it wasn’t intimate, and Dean wasn’t doing it for pleasure or anything like he’d (admittedly) thought about since making the deal, but it still _looked_ like kissing and if John found out about _any_ of the shit that Dean had involved himself with – no matter how life-and-death the situation was – he could kiss his chances of rejoining his dad goodbye for fucking _good_! Literally.

He was about to start his fourth round of compressions when Cas actually _did_ something, and he jolted back just in time to avoid being head butted by the angel again, Castiel drawing in a sharp breath before he was curling in on himself and letting out some sort of strangled, choke-like noise.

“Jesus _fuck_!” Dean blurted, running a shaky hand down his face as he tried to comprehend what had just happened, Castiel continuing to make pained noises from his hunched position a foot away.

He hadn’t expected a reaction as abnormal as that, but he reminded himself that fiction and reality were two different things completely, and also: Cas wasn’t even fucking _human_! Dean didn’t know how his anatomy worked, but he was really fucking glad it allowed Cas to recover in the way that it had! Dean wasn’t even sure if he’d been doing the whole CPR thing _properly_ and it would have been all his fucking fault if Castiel’s Grace - or whatever the reason behind his consciousness was - hadn’t interfered in time.

"Cas?" Dean tried, moving forward quickly to check up on the guy. "What the fuck just happened?"

He wasn't expecting Cas to grab at him, the angel's face pressing to his shoulder, but he supported the guy by holding his biceps, feeling Castiel's breaths sweep over the sleeve of his shirt.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice cracking, and the angel laughed brokenly, the sound deep and rattling and not at all fucking healthy.

"Not really. No," Castiel told him, coughing. "Might have fucked up my back again."

" _That's_ your main concern right now? Your _back?_ " Dean hissed, pulling back a little, even if it did make Castiel slump awkwardly at an angle. But he paused because Cas _really_ didn't too good, and it wasn't exactly fair of him to shout at the guy when he was blatantly in a lot of pain. "You want me to check it or anything?" He added, making his voice a little softer.

Cas shook his head slowly, his hair falling down into his eyes. "It doesn't hurt as much as, uhhh ... everything else," Castiel mumbled, smiling weakly, and Dean frowned, unable to do anything relatively helpful.

"That doesn't mean it's not serious."

"Yeah, well, I'll heal. It'll be fine."

Dean wanted to punch him for being so fucking nonchalant about it all.

But Castiel was rubbing at his eyes, looking like he wasn't quite as at ease with his symptoms as he was making out to be, and Dean touched at his shoulder to grab his attention, anxious to find out what exactly had caused Cas to almost _die_.

"You wanna lie down?"

Castiel blinked, and Dean almost immediately noticed the lack of colour in Castiel's irises; no blue, no purple. Just grey.

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick," Castiel slurred, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of a palm again before he was attempting to stand. Dean stood with him, steadying the guy by holding onto his arm.

"I'm guessing you'd prefer to walk to the bathroom," he assumed lightly, recalling just how unsteady Cas had been the past few times Dean had transported him anywhere. Obviously it was kinda lazy to want to teleport now, but if Cas was gonna be sick, he should probably get there as quickly as possible.

"Yeah. Please," the angel groaned, running his hand down his face.

Dean pulled Castiel closer to him, walking forward slowly so Cas wouldn't risk stumbling or anything like that. He turned his attention to Sam as they passed the foot of the bed, feeling bad for having ignored the boy for the past few minutes. "You alright there, buddy? Feeling okay?"

"I-I think so," Sam told him somewhat shakily, and Dean attempted a smile, genuinely pleased that the kid could seat himself upright without any support.

"Good," Dean voiced, watching as Sam shuffled back along the mattress, his face lighting up when he outstretched his arms, almost like he'd been too distracted to notice his better health before. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes, alright?"

He didn't get a response but he didn't particularly mind, slightly more concerned about how Castiel was faring.

The angel was being his regular self, aside from the whole illness thing 'cos that had blatantly affected his appearance. His Grace still wasn't particularly bright, even if it had flared a little when Cas had first regained consciousness, but the same thing had happened when Cas had started healing himself in the basement so Dean _wanted_ to go ahead and assume that the whole dim-light thing was because Castiel was healing himself; but again, he didn't know much about angels in terms of what their Grace was capable of. Castiel could be way worse off than the impression his appearance gave.

Dean helped Castiel kneel beside the toilet silently, worrying his lower lip between his teeth when Castiel gripped the toilet seat with his hands, not seeming to care how sanitary it was, but Dean doubted he'd be fussed about that crap himself if he felt as sick as Castiel looked. The angel was trembling as he leant forward, his eyes squeezing shut as if preparing himself, and Dean was able to take in just how panicked Cas was. He couldn't even begin to imagine how the guy was feeling right now but Castiel was holding it together incredibly well for someone who'd been screaming in pain just a few minutes ago.

Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when what looked like black tar was projected from Castiel's mouth into the toilet bowl, the angel crying out in agony; his knuckles turning white from holding the seat before he was chucking up again. Dean could feel his chest clench, crouching down beside the angel to rub his hand up and down Cas' back, trying to make him feel at least a little more at ease. He timidly reached for Castiel's nearest hand, knowing that it wasn't a pleasant experience for anyone - especially when it looked as fucking bad as _that_. It made him feel even worse about the whole thing to think that Castiel's symptoms were beginning to seem more and more different to what Sam had experienced. Yeah, Sam had been weak and he'd been sick in the past when the pain got to be too much, but it was never _black_ bile he chucked up. Dean had never examined it or anything because that'd just be fucking gross, but at least he could say it looked as normal as puke _could_ look.

Castiel’s fingers curled into his palm carefully though, and Dean swallowed thickly, looking off to the side when Cas went to throw up again, kinda taken aback by how loose Castiel’s grip was in his own when his other hand was still clenching the toilet seat so hard that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked the damn thing.

He reached across with his free hand to tear off a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll, gently wiping around Castiel’s mouth when the angel simply sat breathing heavily over the toilet bowl.

He tried not to think about the fresh blood that stained Castiel’s lips.

“What the hell’s happening to you?” He whispered, dropping the soiled tissue into the toilet before tearing off some more.

“I don’t know,” Castiel croaked, dragging the back of his free hand across his cheeks hastily to wipe away the tears that Dean hadn’t even _noticed_ until that point.

Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of Castiel’s knuckles soothingly, wiping at Castiel’s lips once the angel had spat yet more of the inky-blood into the toilet.

“I’m so sorry, Cas. I didn’t realise it’d be this fucking bad for you.”

“Not your fault, Dean,” Castiel sighed, squeezing Dean’s hand before slumping against his side, and Dean threw the tissue into the toilet again, flushing the contents before altering his position to support Castiel better. “I overestimated how much I could handle.”

Dean looked down to meet the angel’s stare curiously, frowning at the pale hue to his skin. “You _are_ gonna be able to heal yourself properly, right?”

“Broken record, Dean. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure as fuck don’t _look_ fine.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, his eyes looking cold and empty without their usual colour, more so when they essentially matched the colour of his face.

“I’m talking in the future tense, moron. You know, I _will_? I mean, I feel like shit now, but I won’t in a couple of days,” Castiel insisted, squirming a little as he got comfortable, and Dean threw a leg out to the side to keep him stable, glancing over to Sam who’d been staring at them from the bed opposite the doorway.

It took Dean a little too long to realise what was so off about Sam’s stare, only really acknowledging the reason behind it when Castiel’s foot scuffed over his shadow. He drew it in quickly, feeling his face flush as he coiled the tendrils behind him instead of around the fucking _angel_.

He kept forgetting where he was extending it to, and it was bad enough knowing that Cas wasn’t really comfortable when it was too close to him, let alone having it shape itself around Cas in protection – especially when Sam could fucking _see_.

Jesus _Christ_ – Sam was gonna have a fucking field day telling John about all this shit!

And then there was the handholding, but Dean had hidden their hands pretty well between them already because he _really_ didn’t want to let go just yet, even if it did feel a bit weird.

And not simply because Cas was like, effectively a stranger.

They were basically opposites in terms of being, what with the whole light and darkness heritages, and if Dean felt strange with something as small as handholding, Cas probably felt the same whenever Dean interacted with his shadow.

The thing was, he’d never really been able to detect Castiel’s Grace through touch before – apart from when he’d taken the angel down in the forest upon their first day of meeting, but that had _hurt_ and his shadow had felt dull and achy for a few hours afterwards. The whole Grace aspect wasn’t hurting him _now_ , though. It just sorta buzzed a little.

In all honesty, he didn’t like it.

He turned his attention to Castiel again when his face felt less hot; desperately trying to ignore the way Sam continued to stare across at them. It’d be less weird if the kid actually _said_ something because Dean doubted Castiel was comfortable being stared at like that when he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

“You gonna be sick again,” he asked quietly, nudging Castiel gently when he acknowledged the angel’s vacant stare off to the side.

Castiel simply shook his head but he looked uncertain, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Do you wanna go lie down?”

“No, no. I … I haven’t finished healing your brother yet.”

Dean stilled, his throat going tight. “What?”

“I haven’t taken on all of his sickness yet. I need to heal him completely.”

Dean could feel the worry twist in his chest again, his head feeling light, because if Castiel was reacting in this way when he hadn’t even taken on the whole illness, then Dean dreaded to think about what would happen if he tried again.

Castiel could have _died_ before, for Christ’s sakes!

“Well … you don’t have to do that right _now_. You can rest for awhile.”

“Dean –”

“No, seriously. You’ve got ages, and I’d actually prefer not to have to resuscitate you again if it can be helped.”

There was a pause, Castiel looking somewhat confused before he was turning to Dean with a frown on his face. “Are you telling me you kissed me before?”

Dean could feel the heat return to his face, cursing over and over again in his thoughts. “I didn’t _kiss you_! It was CPR!”

“Fucking better have been CPR.”

Dean shot a glare in Sam's direction when the kid snorted with laughter, letting go of Castiel's hand as he went to move from the floor.

" _Anyway_ ," he stressed, attempting to shift the conversation away from that topic as quickly as possible. "If you're not gonna be sick again, go lay down or something. Sam can wait a little longer."

The angel sighed, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand yet again. "Look, there's honestly nothing to worry about. It's only going to take a moment, so I don't know why you won't just let me get it out of the way."

"Because I don't want you to  _die_ ," Dean grimaced, leaning against the door frame. "You stopped breathing before, dude. I don't get how you can be so okay with risking your life when the whole point of you coming here in the first place was so you  _wouldn't_ die."

Castiel pulled a face, struggling to stand up. "I have a duty as a hunter to help people, Dean. Every hunt is a risk."

"That's not the point! This illness is affecting you way worse than it ever did Sam and he's been this way for  _months_! At least when you go out on a hunt you know what you're up against.  _No one_ knows what the fuck it is that he's suffering with, and you're here throwing up blood and  _God knows_ what when even  _you_ don't know what it is you've taken on!"

He stepped to the side quickly when the angel waved a hand through the air, the bathroom door abruptly slamming shut.

"Oh for ..." Dean turned away, pushing both hands through his hair in irritation.

How the hell did Castiel see this as a good idea? In what way was worsening his situation  _better_?

It was idiotic. Sam was blatantly okay enough to last a while before the illness reached its most recent severity - if that even happened with this sort of sickness - and Castiel was stupidly putting himself in danger when it could potentially  _kill him_. 

Actually, no. It would  _definitely_ kill him.

And Cas didn't seem to give a shit.

*

Castiel leant over the sink, closing his eyes as he listened to the gentle sound of water filling the basin, trying desperately to ignore the conversation going on outside of the room. Well, it wasn't much of a conversation; more a case of Dean complaining with the occasional interruption of Sam telling him to shut up.

Castiel turned off the faucet, dipping his hands into the water before lowering himself to wash the blood from his face. His hands were still trembling and even leaning over slightly ignited the burn in his chest again, the intensity crushing in on his lungs and making it more difficult to breathe. It was bad enough feeling like he had something permanently lodged at the back of his throat without a further breathing restriction, but he could tackle that issue as soon as he healed the tear in his stomach lining. And the damage to his liver. And his left kidney.

There were few organs that had gone unaffected by whatever it was that was poisoning his body. Thankfully, his brain was still receiving enough oxygen to function as per normal, and maybe his heart beat was a little off kilter but it would only take a couple more minutes to even that out. It was just everything else that seemed to be failing, and Castiel knew that healing all of the damage immediately with his weakened state of Grace would probably result in some sort of coma.

So he'd just have to work slowly and get rid of the most life-threatening aspects as soon as possible.

His stomach was the main concern right now because he didn't know if it was an ulcer or simply damage to the lining, but it was fucking  _burning_ and he sure as hell didn't want to throw up anything like that acidic shit again. Not when it had gone on to damage his oesophagus and the back of his throat.

Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if the bleeding process was less painful. He really didn't know how to cope with everything wrong with him right now but he wanted to get it over as soon as he fucking could.

He looked to the mirror as he wiped the blood from his chin, scowling at the blatant discolouration of his facial features. He was surprised that the sickness had already had such a profound effect on his form when he'd been tackling it for no longer than ten minutes.

He looked dead.

Castiel grabbed the soap from the holder to lather up his palms, ensuring the sanitation of his hands before rinsing off the suds and draining the sink, trying not to glance at his reflection too often. It made him uncomfortable to note the physical abnormalities that accompanied the pain, preferring to focus on his surroundings than his body itself. It was healing anyway, and he would willingly accept the fact that he'd been stupid by thinking he could handle as much as he'd taken on. 

He ran the faucet again, ducking forward to catch the water between his lips, swilling it around his mouth and spitting the tainted water into the basin before repeating it again, wanting to remove as much of the bitter taste as possible.

"Cas, open the door."

Castiel rolled his eyes, turning off the tap as he went to dry his hands and face on the nearby hand towel. He didn't understand why Dean was requesting such a thing when the kid could quite simply teleport through the fucking wall.

Even more, Castiel hadn't  _locked_ the door. It was still easily accessible. Simply closed.

"Open it yourself," he called back, chucking the towel to the floor before staring at himself in the mirror for the last time, glad that he'd at least vanquished the sheen from his skin.

Dean entered the room almost timidly, and Castiel cast a small smile in his direction, even if he was somewhat aggravated by how controlling the boy had been prior. He marginally understood why Dean didn't want him taking on any more of the illness, but Castiel knew that so long as he managed his healing, he would be perfectly alright.

And it wasn't like there was much of the poison left in the younger demon's system anyway. Castiel just wanted to make sure he'd healed the boy of it completely so Sam wouldn't risk falling ill to it again.

"Can you please just hear me out," Dean pleaded quietly, and Castiel started toward him, swaying slightly until he caught hold of the basin to keep his balance, exhaling heavily through his nose in frustration.

"I heard you before, kid," he stated, looking past Dean's shoulder to where Sam was seated on the bed, catching the younger boy's eye. "I know what I'm doing."

"You can barely even stand without support, Cas! Why do you  _insist_ on making things more difficult for yourself."

"Because I'm not that much of an invalid," he grinned, outstretching a hand. "Now come be my crutch."

"You are such an asshole," Dean muttered, striding over all the same, and Castiel wound his arm around Dean's shoulders when the demon was close enough, ignoring the sharp sting that accompanied the movement. 

"What? For wanting to heal your brother?" Castiel huffed. "I am  _so_ sorry."

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, but he cracked a smile and that's all Castiel needed to make him feel moderately better about the situation.

He focused his Grace on the lower half of his torso as they made their way over to where Sam was seated on the bed, targeting his liver for the time being because, well, he still had one kidney left and that was a minor issue in comparison.

"Are you really sure this is necessary?" Sam asked softly. "I mean, I feel fine."

Castiel drew away from Dean to sit down on the edge of the mattress as cautiously as he could, the ache in his lower back barely noticeable in comparison to the sharp heat that flooded his chest again, but he took hold of Sam's wrist, doubting he'd have the energy to keep his fingers pressed to the centre of the boy's forehead for as long as he needed to, even if it would be a bit more tedious to launch his Grace from such a faraway point in comparison.

"I just want to make sure," Castiel insisted, clearing his throat as his head swam. "If I don't heal you properly, the illness could come back, so I'd prefer to be thorough than risk your health."

"But you don't look very well."

Castiel laughed lightly, sending his energy into the demon regardless, directing it toward his chest again to withdraw the remaining poison. "There's hardly anything bad left in your system. I can handle it."

Sam's expression was that of disbelief, but Castiel wasn't really all that bothered by it. This genuinely wasn't an issue, and although it would take close to that of a week to cleanse himself of this apparent blood poisoning - even if his liver did heal by the end of the day - the problems associated with his health were nowhere near as bad as they'd initially appeared to be.

The mattress dipped a little as Dean sat beside him, and Castiel closed his eyes as he focused on manoeuvring his Grace through Sam's form, barely detecting anything relatively malignant anywhere in his body, absorbing the minor damage to his cells and taint to his blood before letting go of Sam's wrist, leaning against Dean's side when he was finished.

"Okay," he sighed, wincing as the dark energy joined the rest of the catastrophe in his circulatory system. "Done."

Both brothers were silent for a moment, Dean's hand curving around to act as a support between his shoulder blades, and Castiel let his head rest on Dean's shoulder, trying to steady his breathing as his body became weakened again, encouraging his Grace to disperse briefly to numb the pain.

"What, like ... like  _completely_ done?"

"I wouldn't be saying as much otherwise, Dean. Your brother's fully healed."

"But ... that took like five seconds!" Dean blurted, and Castiel smiled weakly, opening his eyes to look down at the fading black veins in his wrist.

"I told you it wouldn't take long. It's not my fault you didn't listen," he shrugged.

"Dean almost had a panic-"

"Fuck off, Sam! I did _not_!"

"Yes you did! You went in the corner to do that breathing thing 'cos you thought he was gonna die."

Castiel glanced up at Dean curiously, noting the dark pink taint to the demon's cheeks and the blatant way in which Dean avoided his gaze, staring directly down at the carpet when Castiel tried to meet his eye.

"I didn't realise it worried you  _that_ much," he remarked, reaching up to push his fingers through Dean's hair affectionately. "Sorry, Dean."

"'S fine," the boy mumbled, but Castiel doubted it was. He'd known Dean had been somewhat anxious about the whole healing thing, but Castiel hadn't anticipated him to grow that stressed when the task this time around had been minor.

Maybe he should have explained it after all.

"You're okay now though, right?" He followed up, stretching out his legs when Dean's palm shifted lower on his back. He really should have been requesting that Dean take him home, but he felt bad for the whole affair and it wasn't exactly paining him to stay in the child's presence. It was nice to have a distraction anyway. His Grace wasn't going to cease healing the damage whilst he talked.

"I'm  _fine_ , Cas. I'm the one should be asking if you're okay or not. I mean, what did you even do with Sam just then?"

Castiel smiled. "Not much. I just took on the rest of his illness."

"So you haven't like, worsened your condition too much?" Dean persisted, finally meeting his line of sight.

"No, Dean, but, uhhh ..." He raised his left arm pathetically. "Can you take the bracelet off me now? I don't really -"

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry!" Dean blundered, snapping his fingers to make the silver band disappear. "It didn't weaken your Grace or anything, did it?"

Castiel couldn't really say for sure. There  _was_ a chance that it had dulled his abilities, but it wouldn't have had too much of an impact on his strength now, and he didn't particularly mind because he'd been more than capable regardless of whether the warding had still been working against him or not.

But that wasn't his concern. If the bracelet remained attached and Castiel found himself in a compromised situation, it wouldn't be a difficult task for someone to recarve sigils and the like into the metal.

Castiel didn't want to be forced into becoming some creature's servant.

"I don't think so," he stated honestly, rubbing at his eyes. "I just don't want to risk having anyone take advantage of it."

Dean went quiet for a moment, and Castiel had barely begun to register the length of shadow that had wound around his calf before it was gone, the mass shrinking beneath where Dean's feet rested on the carpet, coiling in the opposite direction under the motel bed.

"Do you want me to take you home now?" The demon asked, breaking the silence, and Castiel rolled his lips between his teeth before nodding, knowing that it was the more sensible decision in terms of bettering his health.

He stood when Dean did, guided by the hand resting in the small of his back, and he rested against Dean's chest in exhaustion, not having expected himself to be so weak when he'd barely done anything more at all.

"Sorry," he apologised, his voice muffled as he continued to rely on the boy for support, and Dean laughed, cupping his elbows to allow distance between them.

"Are you gonna be okay walking home through a forest with all your groceries and stuff, Cas?" Dean questioned teasingly, and Castiel sighed, pretending he couldn't feel the shadow touch at the base of his calf again.

"I can  _fly_ , you know. I'm not going to waste my energy walking when I could be home five minutes after you drop me off."

"You're happy to fly everywhere and yet you get all jittery when I transport you to a supermarket?" The demon grinned, and Castiel shoved at him feebly, casting a glance off to the side.

"I prefer being in control, not experiencing some impromptu disappearance act that makes me feel like I'm stuck on a damn carousel," Castiel insisted, feeling his stomach clench at the mere thought of it. It didn't help the pain, and Castiel pulled a face in irritation, glaring down at his own chest as he willed the agony to cease, if only for a while longer.

"Wait, _how_ do you fly?" Dean asked abruptly, pulling Castiel a little closer again. "Is it just like teleporting but all fancy-like?"

"I have wings, dumbass. If I could teleport like you I would have just said so."

The boy looked at him curiously, narrowing his eyes. "You have  _wings_?"

"Yes. I do," Castiel told him, smirking at the confusion written all over Dean's expression. "You can't  _see_ them, Dean. Not when I have no use for them."

"What, so they're like my shadow then?"

"I suppose," Castiel murmured, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Anyway, yeah. You don't have anything to worry about. I'll be fine."

He sighed again when the demon's gaze was tarnished with skepticism, knocking the boy's foot with the toe of his boot. "Come on, kid. I want to go home."

And then Dean was leaning into him, an arm curving around his waist as the demon shifted to the side, and Castiel stared at the boy cautiously, the shadow daring to move higher.

"Back to the forest then?" Dean asked, and Castiel smiled softly, resting all his weight against Dean's side.

"Back to the forest," Castiel confirmed, turning his gaze to the younger demon in the bed. "It was nice to meet you, Sam," he added quietly, another tendril of darkness touching at his leg. "Try to get some rest whilst the effects take hold, okay?"

"Y-yes," the boy responded quickly. "And, uhhh, thank you for helping me. I hope you feel better soon."

Castiel nodded his thanks in return, the pain in his chest encouraging his smile to falter, and he clutched at Dean's forearm when his vision began to blur, grateful that the boy was still there to support him.

"I'll count down from three," Dean whispered, his thumb drawing circles as his hand continued to rest around Castiel's waist. "So close your eyes or something if it makes things easier."

Castiel shifted a little, glancing down at his feet in spite of his poor vision. "Alright."

It certainly made him feel more at ease when Dean began to voice the numbers, even if the boy's shadow was beginning to make him feel rather trapped. He could tell that Dean was still somewhat unsettled though, able to detect the demon's heart rate owing to their close proximity in addition to the nervous way in which Dean's shadow and fingers continued to twitch.

But then they were back in the wood, Castiel's stomach lurching as Dean pulled away from him, the tendrils unwinding to leave Castiel's limbs free to move.

"Was that okay?"

Castiel outstretched an arm to rest against a tree, nodding slowly as he waited for the sharp pangs in his chest to become less prominent. "Is everything okay with you though, Dean?"

"Cas, you don't have to worry-"

"I want to make sure you're fine before you go back to your brother," Castiel ground out, looking to the treetops, analysing the location. It wasn't exactly where Dean had taken him before, but it was only a two minute trek through the foliage and Castiel wasn't all that fussed about such a short journey so he didn't see the need to complain.

"And I _am,_ dude. Look, I ... I only got a bit stressed out before because Sam never acted up like that, and you weren't exactly ... I mean, you still don't look too great, man, and I don't know if you're gonna get better or worse or what."

"I just didn't expect you to be that worried about me, Dean. Especially not to the degree where you're off in a corner having a fucking panic attack!"

"I didn't _have a panic attack_! You were being so fucking stubborn and it was infuriating and I just needed to _think_."

Castiel let out a heavy breath, turning so he was propped up against the tree by the upper part of his back. "Yeah, well, if you get worried again, you can always call. Whenever. I'm not exactly going to be busy over the next few days."

"Are you ... are you actually okay with me calling you though? I mean, I don't wanna annoy you or anything."

"Believe me when I say I will _tell_ you if I think it's annoying," Castiel told him, wincing at the scrape of bark beneath his palm. "Now, you definitely have a place to stay, right? Do you need money?"

The demon blinked at him before his face was flushing and he was looking down at his feet. "Yeah, I have a place to stay."

"And money-wise you're sorted? You won't need to rent a motel room or anything?"

"Shit, Cas - I can't take _money_ from you! I have enough left if I _do_ need a room, but my uncle should be at home by the time I've talked to my dad so I'll be alright," Dean uttered quickly. "Thank you for offering though."

The word _should_ echoed through his mind, twining doubt with his thoughts. He didn't want Dean to spend too long on his own if he'd fare in the same manner as earlier, but he also didn't particularly want to spend his evening babysitting when he desperately needed rest. Yes it was selfish. Yes he wanted Dean to be safe; but Dean was still a demon. Castiel didn't know if the boy's father would make him retell the happenings from the past few days and Castiel sure as hell didn't want his home location to be something that Dean shared, no matter how much Castiel did want to trust him.

So all he could really say was "Okay."

Dean smiled at him, small as it was, and Castiel outstretched an arm when he noticed the expectancy in Dean's gaze, rolling his eyes and stepping forward. "C'mere."

The demon smiled wider, teleporting as opposed to simply walking the three steps toward him, and Castiel grunted as the kid slammed into his chest, winding his arms around Dean's smaller form when Dean pressed even closer.

"Fucking weirdo," Castiel murmured softly, resting his temple against the side of Dean's neck.

Dean laughed lightly, his fingers twisting in the back of Castiel's shirt as his shadow spread out far across the dry soil of the forest floor.

"I'll miss you too, Cas."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**notes**

guess who drew a thing

I kinda did it as an apology more than anything else, but I got a prompt for this on tumblr ages ago and then this spawned in my sketchbook on Monday. It's crude; my drawings are lame, I know, I know - but I've literally had nothing else to do now that my dad confiscated my tablet (hence the lateness of this chapter) so I figured I'd upload it for shits and giggles

and obviously, like I said before, to make up for my inability to keep to my deadlines.

so yeah. have a picture of Cas in a Psylocke outfit.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't expecting Dean to call anytime soon, but he didn't want his phone to die should Dean need anything, so he was being sensible. It wasn't exactly a challenge for him to charge his phone anyway. He may be focussing his Grace on quite a lot, but the preservation of his food was going to be far more exhausting than replicating electricity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heavy breathing*
> 
> demon!dean

"Dad doesn't know about this, does he?"

Dean dropped his duffle to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

"No, he ... no."

Sam didn't reply immediately, so Dean walked over to the spare bed, glancing at the small digital clock that resided on a bedside table.

He'd expected it to be a lot later than what it was, given the fact that he'd hung around in the forest a little longer than needs be after Cas had traipsed on deeper into the wood to get all his groceries and stuff again. It'd taken the guy under an hour to heal Sam to begin with, but Dean had thought that it was about eleven, not half nine. Of course, that wasn't a bad thing. He had more time to spend with Sam than he'd initially hoped for.

"What were you meant to do?" Sam persevered, and Dean lay down on the bed, rolling onto his stomach with his chin resting on his crossed arms, facing the headboard.

"Dad told me not to talk to you about it," Dean grunted, unable to keep the frown from his face. It was understandable, even if their dad had told them about all the stupid angel hunting techniques in the past. Dean didn't want to think about it anyway, knowing that he could just talk to Bobby about the whole blood thing later. Or in a couple of days. Whatever. So long as he got someone trustworthy to understand just how useless the procedure was, he didn't care when it happened.

Well, obviously getting the message out there as soon as possible would be better, but he doubted it would change the views all that quickly. He was pretty sure there were other hunters that knew just how useless angel blood was, and some of them may have even spoken about it before, but Dean would have to persuade a considerable amount of people if he had a chance of making a more prominent change to the way people view angels as a whole.

"He also gave you an order to do something else, but that didn't stop you from bringing an angel here anyway," Sam quipped, throwing a pillow at him, and Dean grimaced, glancing over at the boy.

"I don't _want_ to talk about it," he ground out. "Dad's probably gonna tell you about it later anyway when he goes on about how much of a fucking disappointment I am."

"Don't say that, Dean. You know he -"

"He basically said as much to me yesterday, Sam," Dean muttered, staring down at the bedspread. "And it's not like he's refrained from telling me before."

Sam didn't respond that time, and Dean dropped his forehead to rest on his arms, closing his eyes. It'd still be a while before John arrived at the cabin, and Dean guessed that he'd probably be receiving a phone call the moment his dad realised what had happened. Dean would stick around in the motel for as long as he could though. Not long enough for John to land a punch on him, but long enough to at least enjoy Sam's company whilst he had a shit ton of time at his disposal.

"I'm not allowed to travel with you anymore," he mumbled into the sheets, clenching his jaw and balling the fabric in his hands. He didn't particularly want to talk about it but it would be stupid to leave it till the very last minute. He needed to make sure that Sam understood everything before he left, and if Sam knew now, then maybe they could arrange to meet up ahead of time or something - and plan what they could do to make sure John never found out. "Dad said if I didn't do as he asked, I wasn't allowed to stay."

"Then why didn't you do what he asked?!" Sam blurted, and Dean cringed, the frown pulling tighter at the corners of his mouth, making his face ache.

"Because he wanted me to hurt Cas, and Cas didn't deserve it," Dean stated, twisting the bedsheet in his hands. "And because he lied to me."

"About what?" The boy questioned, and it made Dean's heart clench at the sound of distrust in Sam's voice, having hoped that Sam would have been at least a little more open for this conversation.

Dean cleared his throat. "Dad told me that angels couldn't heal people. He said that angels were liars, a-and Cas isn't. He never ... fuck - I was so damn close to actually doing what dad asked but I ... I thought about it a lot." He swallowed thickly, letting out a heavy breath. "There was ... a penalty for what dad wanted to do, and it would have been all for nothing. You wouldn't have gotten better and we'd have got in a lot of trouble, and dad didn't seem to care when I told him Cas had offered to heal you. He just wanted the guy to suffer."

His words were met with an uncomfortable silence, the air conditioner rattling away on the other side of the room, and Dean's throat tightened with the hope that Sam would understand why Dean had made the choices he had. If Cas had hurt members of Dean's family in the past then he'd completely get why John wanted him dead, but if that was the case, his dad would have mentioned as such at the beginning of the hunt for incentive. There was absolutely no reason as to why Cas had needed to die, and Dean still didn't understand as to why John was so set on ending the angel's life.

And it wasn't like Cas was a nasty person. Even Sam could have picked up on that by the way the angel acted before.

He didn't _deserve_ to be hurt.

"It makes sense, I guess," Sam mumbled, and Dean looked to him in confusion, only to see Sam staring off at the window. "My dream, I mean," the boy added, but Dean was still left trying to guess what the kid actually meant by that.

"What about your dream?" Dean pressed.

"He protected you," Sam said softly.

Again, Dean was confused. Nothing about that played any importance in what they'd just been discussing, apart from maybe proving that Cas wasn't a threat. John had always talked about angels like they were too guarded, in the sense that they were overly aggressive. Cas had acted that way, but only after Dean had taken him captive. When Dean had first opened the door on him, Cas had actually come across as kind of pleasant.

But that couldn't have been what Sam had been referring to unless he thought Cas had put on a front or something when he got here. In all honesty, it wasn't that farfetched an idea. If Cas had been a complete douchewad in the first place, then Dean would have negotiated to ensure that he wasn't as much of a dick around Sam, and besides: the kid hadn't spent as much time with him as Dean had. Even now Dean couldn't safely say he knew what Cas was like as a person, what with all his damn mood swings, and Sam hadn't actually talked to him that much.

Dean didn't even know why he was thinking about it all. Not when what Sam had said implied something other than first impressions.

"What do you mean he protected me?" Dean followed up in alarm. "Does something happen?"

Sam shrugged a little, still looking somewhat dazed. "He, uhhh ... I don't know. He wouldn't let this man near you, but I think you guys were on a hunt or something because he had blood on him and stuff."

Dean blinked, his mouth going dry. "So when you said he was in your dream, it wasn't you seeing him _heal you?"_

"I didn't know he was an angel until you bought him here," Sam informed him. "And I didn't realise you were with him because dad kicked you out. I thought you were doing that training thing that he was on about a few weeks ago."

Dean grimaced at the reminder of the camp John had been trying to persuade Dean to attend a while back, claiming that it'd toughen him up a bit. Make him a better hunter.

Dean didn't _want_ to be a hunter.

"I highly doubt they'd employ angels when so many people hate them. And angels glow, Sam. You couldn't have missed that light he has around him."

"He didn't have a light around him in my dream! He just looked like a normal human!"

Dean tore his gaze away for a moment, focussing on the headboard again. Castiel's injuries had to have been pretty bad if his glow had reduced to nothing in Sam's prediction. It had Dean wondering why the guy would even protect him in the first place. Dean wasn't worth getting hurt over, and he hadn't thought that they'd actually ever meet up. He'd been given Cas' number so he could have someone to talk to, but the thought of Cas spending time with him made him kind of ... excited? He knew he shouldn't have been, given that Cas was gonna end up getting hurt because of him, but he'd liked the angel. Getting to see him again would be great!

"Do you know when this happens exactly?" Dean asked, trying to keep the smile from his voice as he dropped his forehead to his arms once more.

"I never know when stuff happens. Why'd you make me repeat myself every time," Sam groaned, throwing another pillow at him. Dean caught it with his shadow before it could land, keeping it held in mid air for a second.

"Just in case it changes. Duh," Dean teased, rolling onto his back and letting the pillow fall onto his stomach, hugging it to his chest. "What else did you see in this dream of yours?"

"That was the only part with the angel in if that's why you're asking," Sam told him somewhat smugly, and Dean rolled his eyes, not all that amused by the kid's tone. "There was stuff about dad's next hunt and some meeting he's going to with that Alastair guy. And then there was a bit of weird scenery and a dead rabbit, but I don't remember much else. It was blurrier than usual and the sounds were really low."

"Alastair's the creep with white eyes, right? Or am I thinking of someone else?"

"No, his eyes are white. I don't like him."

"I didn't think he and dad even got along anymore," Dean muttered, scratching his forehead. There weren't many hunters John had fallen out with, given how highly respected he was in the community. Alastair was a complete and utter dick though, constantly stirring shit to cause a scene, so it was pretty surprising to hear that John was willing to work with him again. "But a dead bunny, huh? That's new," Dean continued, running the rest of Sam's premonition through his thoughts.

"I didn't like that either," Sam said quietly, and Dean turned his head to look at him, concerned. "It was ... it was kind of scary."

Dean sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed so he could face the boy fully. "What do you mean?"

Sam didn't stop staring at the window, a sort of paleness to his skin that Dean had thought the kid would be without now that Cas had healed him.

"It ... it didn't look right," Sam whispered, finally glancing elsewhere, looking down to his hands. "There was a lot of blood."

Dean drew his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on the skin to distract himself. Sometimes it really wasn't fair for Sam to have to dream about twisted shit like that when most of the time it wasn't important. Sam hadn't asked for that ability, and yes, on occasion it was useful, but then there were instances like this where all it did was induce his nightmares. He was only twelve, for Christ's sake. He didn't deserve more nightmares than the hunting life already provided.

"Hey," he voiced, encouraging Sam to look across at him. "You wanna go for a walk or something?"

It had been a while since they'd last been able to do anything together, and he wanted to take Sam's mind off the whole dream side of things. It'd be better than hanging around in a motel room for six hours anyway, and Dean also wanted to make up for the fact that the kid had spent half a year in a freaking _bed._

Sam looked startled, but there was a certain interest in his eyes. "N-now?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, watching the tension gradually drain out of Sam's form. "Stretch those scrawny legs of yours."

The boy pouted, sitting up straighter. "You think I can't walk now or something?"

"Never said that," Dean grinned at him. "But I figured we should celebrate your new found good health by doing all the stuff you couldn't do before. What do you _want_ to do?"

"Won't dad get angry if he comes back and we're not here?"

Dean snorted, watching the timid smile break out on the kid's face. "He's gonna be angry either way, Sam, but we've got ages. We can do whatever you want for now."

*

Castiel tipped his head back against the grass bank of the spring, relaxing in the sun-warmed water as he looked to the trees. Most of the blossoms had fallen to the surface of the spring already, decorating the water with a collection of pink and yellow petals, and although Castiel was used to the change between the seasons affecting the scenery each year, he always favoured just how incredible the transition between spring and summer really was.

Well, it was almost three weeks into the summer months, but the land around here always seemed to take a little longer than the southern parts of the forest to adjust to the season.

Castiel closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air as he listened to the gentle sound of the small waterfall opposite. It felt so good to be surrounded by nature again - the nature he was familiar with. He would always prefer this area, even if it did have its limitations.

He pushed both hands through his wet hair, keeping it from his forehead before turning around to pull himself up onto the grass, reaching for his towel. He got to his feet, scooping up the bar of soap as he started back toward the concealed dirt path, grateful for the shade of the area as he made his way off of the burning soil, the skin of his upper back practically dry from the heat already.

He walked up the rock slope slowly, still fairly exhausted, but he knew he had plenty of time to sleep later. It would make more sense to get everything else out of the way first so he wouldn't leave it too late - especially when it came to preserving his food because he sure as hell didn't want anything spoiling before he'd had a chance to use it.

Castiel placed the soap back on its shelf, wiping the residue off on the towel as he went on to dry his body, carefully dabbing at the delicate scab that had formed on his back.

He lay the towel flat on the rock outside to dry when he was done, yawning and stretching before continuing through to his bedroom.

The feel of the smooth stone beneath his bare feet was something he'd missed a lot over the past few days, and even the earthy smell of the woodland was so very different to that surrounding the cabin, and it was so ... refreshing. He was surprised by how much he'd missed it, given how pathetic his home actually was, but he was glad to be be back.

Glad his life had been spared.

He glanced to his bed; the futon with mussed sheets from his hurry to get up the last time he'd slept in it, plucking a pair of boxers and a clean shirt from the duffle he kept his clothing in so he could dress himself. He wasn't all that fussed about rebandaging his wound when he wouldn't be doing anything strenuous. He planned to bathe later that day anyway and it would be stupid to waste his supplies when they weren't necessary at that point in time.

He stumbled a little as he pulled on the cotton shorts, heading back on through to the largest part of the cave to grab his phone from his makeshift cabinet, pulsing in the slightest amount of his Grace to ensure the battery was fully charged. He wasn't expecting Dean to call anytime soon, but he didn't want his phone to die should Dean need anything, so he was being sensible. It wasn't exactly a challenge for him to charge his phone anyway. He may be focussing his Grace on quite a lot, but the preservation of his food was going to be far more exhausting than replicating electricity. Well, not the freezing aspect, but the reopening of the cavern wall, along with ensuring the freezer-like temperament, was always something that wore him out fairly quickly.

Castiel dropped his cell to one of the warped cushions he'd crafted for his settee, knocking the metal basket across the floor with his foot. He'd organised the majority the moment he'd gotten back, having planned the order in which he'd make everything. The soups were to be made first, given the fewer number of utensils required. Those were also easier to clean, and he'd be reusing the larger pot to boil the fruit so it would save time in terms of preparing for that.

He walked back out to the entrance of his cave after retrieving his largest pot from his collection of kitchen utensils, holding it under his arm as he made his way midway down the slope so he could view the fall of water from the rockface just a short distance away. He summoned the fresh water into a large bubble, leaning against the main body of his home as he drew it closer. Again, it wasn't using much of his Grace and the pain in his muscles was barely noticable, nothing more than a sharp pang of agony through his form every so often. He knew it would remain that way for a while, more so considering the fact that it was the one thing that hadn't changed at all since he'd begun to heal himself, and yes, perhaps it should concern him more than it currently did, but as soon as he'd eaten again, it'd be far simpler to manage.

He was sure of it.

The bubble of water was dropped into the pot, left to boil over the fire pit in the centre of the room whilst he went about cutting up the vegetables and separating the scraps for the broth. He didn't like to waste anything, and he planned to take the remains from _that_ out to the wood later to use in his traps. He probably should have opted to get some kind of meat when Dean had taken him shopping the day prior, but it didn't actually do as much good as he wanted in terms of strength. Raw vegetables offered far more energy.

Obviously Castiel couldn't really afford to eat it all raw, given the fact that he wanted to save his supplies for as long as possible and freezing the vegetables didn't seem all that wise. At least the soups maintained their flavour when they were defrosted. Vegetables always seemed to wilt, their taste bland and their consistency ... off.

No. He was content with what he could make. It was all far healthier than the few canned products he had left in the pantry.

Castiel added the vegetable scraps to the water as soon as it started to bubble, along with some rock salt he still had kept in his hunting duffel, before placing the lid over the pot to continue boiling.

He went about finding his colander whilst that was happening, along with the few containers he had free. He'd gotten three more whilst shopping with Dean, one of which he'd use for the jam, even if it wasn't exactly a model container to use. Castiel had plenty of jam jars left though, so storage in that case wasn't really an issue. He just wanted somewhere to keep the leftovers should he have any.

His mind was empty in the hours that followed, nothing aside from his mother's recipes occupying his thoughts, even as he moved on to make his third batch of jam, crushing the fruit in a small bowl to pour into the pot with the sugar when he was finished.

But he felt different. He knew he was tired and the illness was still poisoning his body, but things just didn't seem right.

It was throwing off his concentration.

He put the bowl to the side, casting a quick glance to his phone on the couch before laying back on the cold stone floor. He couldn't remember this time he felt so out of place.

He hoped Dean was doing okay - especially if the boy's father had realised that Castiel had been set free. Castiel didn't know how much Dean's father had paid Crowley for information and the like, but having learnt about how the demonic family lived, he did feel slightly bad that they'd wasted money on something Castiel would have potentially charged for much less. Hell, he might've even done it for free.

If the man had contacted him with a proposal to have his son healed, as opposed to ordering Castiel kidnapped and murdered, then of course he would have helped.

No one deserved to endure as much suffering as Sam had.

*

Sam's laughter was infectious, the light noise sounding loud across the barren planes of the park as they sat on the swings, Sam's ice cream dripping onto the kid's pants with every second the boy neglected it. It wasn't that much of a big deal, and for once, it was one less thing Dean had to worry about, even if he would kinda miss cleaning Sam up when their dad was out and about. He'd never quite got the hang of clothes washing though: too many colours and too much effort.

Nah. He wouldn't miss handling everyone's dirty laundry.

"Did you actually ... you know?" Sam giggled, slumping forward slightly. "Have to _kiss_ him?"

Dean knew his face was red but he didn't give a damn, because Sam had promised not to tell dad about anything that had happened and Dean didn't know how long it'd be before he saw the kid again, so what the hell? May as well talk about it if it was gonna keep Sam laughing for a bit longer.

"Yes," Dean told him, pulling a face in mock disgust to entertain the younger boy a little more. "You know, until then I never understood why dad tells us not to make deals with people."

Sam blinked, his cheeks flushed and his smile growing wider. "Whys he say that?"

Dean leant in, keeping a completely serious face as he lowered his voice. "Because kissing is _gross."_

Sam laughed again, taking a bite of the ice cream scoop, and Dean looked across the vast expanse of grass, pushing himself gently on the swing as he tried _not_ to remember what kissing Cas had been like.

But it had been different.

He frowned to himself, pushing back with a little more force so his feet lifted from the ground, his shadow dragging over the weird, squishy tiles that padded the area underneath.

He shouldn't have been thinking about something like that again. It was stupid and pointless, and actually made him feel kinda uncomfortable. Like, yeah, Cas was sorta ...

_Fuck._

"So I'm guessing you didn't try out the barrier thing then?"

Dean smiled bitterly, hating where his thoughts were headed. "A-actually, we kinda did," Dean huffed, his hands tightening around the chains attached to the swing seat. "Cas didn't really, uhhh ... he's pretty heavy handed."

"What? So he tried to _hurt you?!"_ Sam blurted, his voice tainted with both laughter and what sounded like shock.

"In fairness, I kind of pushed him to do it," Dean insisted, wetting his lips. "I didn't treat him very nice."

"Wow. And here I was thinking you'd spent the past two days just sucking face with an angel."

"Oh my _God,_ Sam! Why the hell would you think that?!" Dean shouted in embarrassment, burning even hotter as he shot a glare across at the kid. "I'm not fucking _gay!"_

"Never said you were," Sam chirped, his shadow reaching out to twine with Dean's on the ground, and Dean let himself relax on the swing so he wouldn't end up dragging Sam along with him, his shadow keeping in place with the boy's on the floor. "Not that, y'know, I'd have a problem with it or anything."

Dean let out a heavy breath, staring the kid down. "Seriously? We have a few hours before dad gets back and you want to waste time talking about _sexuality?"_

"I wasn't the one who bought up the topic of kissing guys, Dean. It's not my fault you have mentionitus."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He asked sharply, letting the swing come to a stop.

Sam smirked, licking his ice cream again. "Just that you've managed to name drop Cas into basically every conversation we've had since he left."

"I have not!" Dean argued, shoving at the kid. "I'm only answering your stupid questions!"

He jolted when the ice cream was crushed against the centre of his chest, recoiling in disgust as Sam ran off laughing.

"You little ..." he grimaced, getting to his feet. The ice cream fell from his shirt to the floor in a thick mess, and he pulled at the base of his shirt to prise it away from his skin, the fabric wet and unpleasant and smelling of that sickly flavoured mint shit.

He looked up to where Sam tore down the grass, clearly flaunting his ability to move around now that he'd been healed, but Dean ignored that factor for a moment, mapping out where the kid was headed next.

He transported himself to the spot Sam was running to, crouching down to grab the kid around the waist and haul him over his uninjured shoulder with ease, starting back toward the swing set when Sam was safely in place.

"Dean! Put me down!" Sam squealed, rubbing his hands on the back of Dean's shirt, more ice cream soaking through the material to cling to his skin, and Dean shivered a little, grinning.

"Not until you finish your ice cream, Sam."

"N-no!" Sam giggled, his legs flailing as Dean altered his hold, bringing Sam around so he was left dangling against Dean's hip, both his skinny arms pinned to his sides, and Dean lowered him slowly, Sam's wriggling making it incredibly difficult to keep steady.

"Come on, Sammy. I thought mint was your favourite," he teased, letting Sam's face hover above the green mess. "I bought this for you specially."

"It's got ants on it!"

Dean laughed, rocking the kid forward slightly until Sam let out another scream in protest.

He stepped to the side so he could lower Sam to the floor as carefully as he could, sitting down beside him on the soft ground and leaning back on on his hands, watching as the kid sat up in a similar position.

"I'm never buying you ice cream again," Dean vowed halfheartedly, letting their shadows intertwine between them. It brought a sense of comfort to him whenever they did it, and it always seemed to make Sam feel better too. That's why they usually linked overnight, just in case Sam had a nightmare and needed the reassurance that whatever it was he was seeing wasn't happening right that second. Maybe it wasn't the best reassurance, given that almost everything Sam saw came true eventually, but Dean wouldn't ever let Sam get hurt.

If there was ever anything bad, Dean would try his damn best to change it.

At the sound of Dean's ringtone, Sam's shadow tensed, and Dean grimaced, conflicted as to whether or not he wanted to answer. It didn't feel like he'd spent all that long in Sam's company after all, even though they'd spent most of the day together.

He hadn't really expected time to creep up on them like that, bringing them way closer to the halfway point.

He drew his phone out of his pocket lethargically, knowing who it'd be without even looking at the caller ID.

"Is it Cas?" Sam asked brightly, amusement clear in his tone. Dean shoved at the kid's face with his free hand in retaliation.

 _I_ _wish._

He pressed 'answer' timidly, bring his phone up to his ear.

"Hi, Dad," he croaked, clenching his jaw as he prepared himself for the onslaught of shouting.

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ HAVE YOU DONE?!"

Dean jerked away from the earpiece quickly, closing his eyes as he took in a ragged breath.

"I -"

"WHERE IS IT?!" John screamed. "WHERE'S THE FUCKING ANGEL, DEAN?!"

Dean swallowed, getting to his feet. "I let him go."

"YOU -"

John cut himself off and Dean could hear the distinct sound of glass being smashed on the other end of the line, his lower lip trembling involuntarily as he tried to plan what he could say.

"Dad," he tried, occupying his free hand by tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Dad, can I please just ..."

The sound of the receiver rung loud in his ear; the droning sound that always seemed to conclude the end of their phone calls, and Dean let both hands fall to his sides, staring down at the grass turf.

He felt like we was going to be sick.

"Guess I better take you back home now," he muttered quietly, pushing his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

Sam didn't reply, but his shadow remained linked with Dean's own, tightening its hold as if to never let go.

*

"Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?!"

"Dad, please just -"

The air was knocked out of him as John shoved him up against the wall, Dean's vision flaring white for a brief moment, and he choked, barely able to hear Sam shouting at John from across the room.

"What did I say to you," John hissed, both hands clamping his shoulders, a palm pressed firmly against Dean's bullet wound. _"What. Did._ _I_. _Say."_

Dean swallowed thickly, focusing on the harsh motel lighting. "Y-you said angel blood was the only cure, but you were wrong. Cas -"

He felt tears well up when John dug his thumbs in, blunt nails sharp against his skin; burning the inflamed flesh of Dean's shoulder.

"You put _all our lives_ at risk because you _assumed_ I was _wrong?!"_ John bellowed, and Dean shut his eyes before the tears could fall, not wanting his dad to shout at him for longer than he could handle.

 _I had proof,_ he wanted to shout back. _You **were** wrong!_

But instead he kept his mouth shut, attempting to straighten out his frown before he was being shoved to the side, his hip slamming against the wood of the nightstand.

"You let a fucking _angel_ into this room! Did you not once stop and think about how fucking stupid it was of you to let it near your own fucking _brother?!"_

"Cas promised not to hurt anyone," Dean tried weakly, his shadow winding tight around his ankles to stop himself from running away - to stop himself from being such a coward. "And he healed Sam for us! He helped Sam get -"

He brought his shadow up in time to prevent the cell phone from hitting him in the face, staggering back a little to keep his balance.

"How the _fuck_ do you know if Sam's healed or not?!" John exploded, striding forward to grab Dean by the front of his shirt. "You let a fucking angel near him and you have _no idea_ what it's done!"

"I feel _fine,_ Dad! Let him go!" Sam shouted, pulling at John's arm.

"Stay out of it, Sam! Go wait in the car!"

"No, stop -"

John whirled on him, grabbing the younger boy's wrist. "I said go and wait in the _fucking_ car!"

Sam looked at him with pleading eyes, panic written all over his face, and Dean blanched when he realised this was it. _This_ was his goodbye and he couldn't even do it properly!

Hell, their shadows couldn't even link with their dad in the way, and Dean wanted nothing more at that moment to keep Sam comforted - to promise him that everything was gonna be fine.

"Dad, please can you just listen to me?" Dean begged, his breath catching when Sam burst into tears, the kid breaking free of John's hold to try and grab Dean's arm. John caught hold of him again, pushing Sam in the direction of the doorway without another word. Dean took that opportunity to continue talking, his speech blatantly affected by his own crying, unable to keep the tears from falling any longer. "The blood didn't work! C-Cas let me try it to heal myself and -"

He wasn't expecting the backhanded slap to his face, and he yelped, hastily pressing a palm to his cheek to ease the pain.

"Where is it?" John asked coldly, and Dean stared up at him in defiance, trying his best to put on a brave front. He didn't want to be continually interrogated and belittled for being sensible - especially when he'd apparently considered everything his dad _hadn't_.

"I don't know."

"Don't fucking lie to me, Dean - tell me where it is!"

"Why?" Dean shot back, wiping the tears from his eyes. "We don't need him anymore."

He teleported to the opposite side of the room when his dad went to hit him again, grabbing his duffel from the floor and cradling it in his arms. John turned to him abruptly, the dark lenses in front of his eyes making his features look sunken and warped in the yellow motel lighting, but Dean met his gaze fearlessly, preparing to leave for good.

He knew it was sudden but nothing about this was fair! He'd tried to explain himself and it was pointless to argue when his dad clearly didn't give a shit.

Dean doubted he'd even get any sympathy if he bought up the fact that he'd been shot.

"Even if I knew where he was I wouldn't tell you," he stated boldly, glancing at Sam for a brief moment when the kid's shadow reached hurriedly for his across the carpet. "Cas doesn't deserve to die."

"You know _nothing_ about wh-"

Dean transported himself outside as quickly as he could, not wanting to be made to feel more insignificant than he already did. He knew he'd done the right thing by letting Cas live. Cas had healed Sam and that was the most important factor any of them should have cared about; not where the angel was.

But if his dad had wanted the angel so bad, then why hadn't _he_ been the one to trap the guy? Dean got that John had given him responsibility for once to make him more impervious to sympathy, but that wasn't what Dean had had in mind when his dad had told him he'd be doing his first solo hunt - especially when that had put Sam's life in his hands!

It was cowardly, in a way, for John to give Dean the responsibility for something so important, but at least this way Sam had actually been healed. If their dad had gotten his way and Cas had died, then there'd be three deaths as a consequence, and ultimately, it would have been the stupidest outcome of the whole thing.

So even though it hurt, and Dean felt worse without his family's company than he had just then in the motel, he was happy knowing that his choice had been the more beneficial one overall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's like 2am right now and I've been writing since 3 this afternoon so I'm sorry if the last segment's crap and if there's spelling/ grammar mistakes because I'm exhausted and I should be revisising but all you guys have been so nice about this fic so far so I'm just gonna take this moment to say thank you for being so lovely.
> 
> (and to anyone who's at the same conflicted stage about watching spn after the jibcon thing as I am, I'm just gonna announce my disappointment over the whole queerbaiting thing because it sucks, and it makes me sad, and I'm gonna go now before I fall asleep at my desk so goodnight you wonderful people and i'm sorry for adding my stupid opinion at the end of this chapter where it's not even wanted)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From what Dean understood, Cas could do a hell of a lot more than a demon, and as deadly as it was, it was also way more useful. Even Dean's abilities were sub par in comparison and he doubted that he'd win in a fight against the angel now that he knew what they could do. Not that he'd want to fight an angel again. If he'd known everything Cas was capable of before trying to take him down in the forest, he wouldn't have let Cas anywhere fucking near him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be up Saturday evening but while I was editing I got carried away and basically I wrote 2000 more words than I usually do

Dean walked for what felt like hours, simply rerunning the prior events in his mind. He knew it was stupid, and it only made him feel worse the longer he went about it, but he wanted to call Cas, and if he called Cas then he’d be asked a bunch of questions about everything that’d happened and he wanted to have a decent answer.

Okay, that was also stupid. Everything about it was stupid. Cas probably wouldn’t even ask.

He kicked at the ground in irritation, trying to think of something a little more cheerful as he turned yet another corner, not even caring where he was headed because it wasn’t like he even had anywhere to go. Bobby wasn’t home and he didn’t particularly want to head back to the cabin in case his dad chose to stop by again because, yeah, maybe he could hide in the shadows, but that was fucking exhausting and he didn’t even know how long he could go on keeping himself hidden for. He definitely couldn’t _sleep_ like that, and his dad would be more than a little pissed if he ended up tripping over him or something.

Anyway, Dean would check it out when it got dark later. If his dad was there then he’d check Bobby’s again, and if Bobby wasn’t home, he’d find the cheapest motel he could.

And _then_ he’d phone Cas, because he didn’t want to bother the guy with more problems than necessary. To be perfectly honest, he was more concerned about how Cas was faring as opposed to where he himself was gonna stay. He knew that within a few days, he’d have his whole housing issue sorted, but Cas wouldn’t necessarily be better.

Dean didn’t care how high his phone bill would be at the end of this whole thing so long as he could make sure the angel was actually healed. He was sure he could find a way to pay it off somehow.

Or he could borrow Bobby’s phone every once in a while and help him out on hunts to make up for it. At least then he wouldn’t risk having his cell number cancelled.

That'd make things complicated because he hadn't gotten round to memorising Sam's phone number yet and that was pretty important, what with phoning Sam not really being an option right now. Dean knew it’d be a while before they’d actually be able to have a conversation, but he supposed they could text and stuff until that point. It was far more discrete, even if it was still rather risky. He wouldn’t be surprised if John started monitoring Sam’s phone, or even got rid of it altogether.

Obviously the latter option would be a little more problematic, seeing as Dean wouldn’t be able to stay in contact at all, but he didn’t want to think about that. It wasn’t helping his situation.

He yawned, pushing both hands through his hair before teleporting back to Bobby's porch, sitting down on the step to watch the sun set over the scraps of piled metal. His legs were actually kinda sore from walking around for so long, so it felt good to actually take a rest, even if he was still without a place to stay. At least here he had some kind of company to keep him from harassing the angel anytime soon.

Dean grinned when he felt the wet nose snuffle against the back of his neck, somewhat surprised that the dog hadn't kicked up a fuss the moment Dean had stepped foot on the land. He reached behind him to rub at the top of Rumsfeld's head, subtly trying to keep the rottweiler from licking the side of his face. He wasn't that much of a dog person, but Rumsfeld was okay; gentle and friendly, and actually pretty chill for something that he was generally kind of scared of.

Well, no, he wasn't scared of dogs  _per se_. Just the bigger ones - the ones that had that low bark and growled to a degree that Dean didn't consider all that safe.

But Rumsfeld was different. He recognised Dean and that definitely made him feel better because the dog could bark  _really_ fucking loud when he wanted to and that always made Dean feel that little bit more anxious about getting close to him.

Rumsfeld sauntered round toward him, placing a large paw on Dean's thigh as he butted at Dean's chin with his snout, and Dean ran a hand over the soft fur of his head tentatively, leaning back when the dog tried to lick him again. He pushed at the dog's heavy body, his smile softening when Rumsfeld backed off without going for him, and he waited for the rottweiler to sit down before relaxing properly, trying to ignore the gentle thump of the dog's tail against the porch wood and the wide eyed look Rumsfeld was giving him from where he'd positioned himself.

"Fine," he huffed when the dog continued to look at him expectantly, summoning the battered tennis ball from across the scrapyard to his hold before unlatching the chain from Rumsfeld's collar and flinging the ball back in the direction it came from. Rumsfeld scrambled down the steps, bounding after the old toy whilst Dean lounged back on the porch, yawning again. He knew the dog was way too loyal to simply run off, but even if he did, Dean knew he could catch him long before he made it onto a road of any kind. Bobby's scrapyard was practically out in the middle of nowhere anyway so it wasn't like Rumsfeld was at risk of being run down by a car if he went a mile or so past the drive.

Obviously Dean wouldn't let the dog get that far in the first place, but there really wasn't much to worry about.

Dean felt sorry for Rumsfeld sometimes, knowing that it must suck for him whenever Bobby went out on a hunt, even if it was usually for no longer than a night or so. It couldn't be all that fun chained up outside for hours on end with nothing to do - and it probably got worse when he went the night without being fed. Not that Bobby starved his dog or anything, seeing as he barely took on hunts anymore as it was, issuing work more than anything else, but still. Bobby rarely let the dog in the house. Rumsfeld was out on his own more often than not.

Dean didn't mind entertaining him for a while, and if Bobby wasn't back by eight, Dean'd grab him something to eat before he found a place to stay for the night. There wasn't much point in him ditching the place when they'd both be alone otherwise, and right now, Dean couldn't really think of anything else he could do.  He still didn't think now was a good time to call Cas, or even if the guy would want him to phone yet. It'd probably make more sense to wait until the following day if anything, given the fact that Cas would probably want to enjoy his time away from Dean for a while. 

Fuck. He didn't even  _need_ to call the guy. He'd probably just make himself look like a fucking idiot if all he called for was to say 'hi'. 

He picked up the ball with his shadow when Rumsfeld bought it back over, not really wanting to touch it with his hands after hearing the wet squelching sound it'd made when it had hit the lower step. He could still feel its damp texture as he wound a tendril around the small sphere, cringing before throwing it off between the rusted cars again, Rumsfeld's quick movement drawing up dust from the ground as he turned to give chase once more.

But the thing was, Dean wanted to call him. He really did. Even if it was pretty selfish of him.

Okay that thought didn't help matters. Not after what Sam had said before.

Dean pouted, finally letting his duffle fall to the step beside him, rolling both his shoulders to try and stop them from aching so much. It was starting to get a little colder now, the sun having begun to set to the west, so Dean looked to his watch, frowning. He'd give it another hour before going to scout out the cabin. It'd be kinda cruel of him to only throw the ball twice for the dog before tying him up again, and Dean wanted to clear his mind properly. He could let his thoughts wreak havoc later on when the more important things were taken care of.

He got to his feet, hopping down to the ground to wander over to where Rumsfeld was viciously gnawing on the tennis ball.

"Hey, dog!" He called, following up with a whistle until Rumsfeld came thudding toward him, the ball flicked in his direction with a sharp toss of the dog's head. Dean caught it with his shadow before it could smack into his shin, raising it in the air until Rumsfeld was seated, his big brown eyes utterly focussed on even the slightest movement.

"You ready?"

Rumsfeld's posture tensed and Dean grinned, firing the ball back over his shoulder and sidestepping the animal when it bolted forward to retrieve it.

He followed after the dog slowly, dragging his feet along through the dirt as he waited for Rumsfeld to come back, not really caring for how long it took for the rottweiler to find the ball. There was something kind of therapeutic about entertaining the dog, and it was amusing to see just how enthusiastic Rumsfeld was as he bounded after it, dodging between the cars even if it was a squeeze for his pudgy body.

Dean crouched down to pet the dog on the head when it came rushing back over, murmuring a 'good boy' before he threw the ball again. He straightened up, pursing his lips as he stretched, looking up at the sky. He didn't know how long it'd take before it'd get properly dark out here, but he could remember the last time he and Sam had been stupid enough to let the dog run loose in the dark and he didn't want to end up crawling beneath a goddamn car to try and persuade Rumsfeld that it wasn't the safest place to sleep.

Bobby had been pretty lenient about it all. Well, more lenient than if it had been John in his place. John wouldn't have helped, nor would he have let either Sam or Dean head back in the house without making them sort out the problem first.

Rumsfeld wouldn't have been the only one sleeping outside.

There were a lot of times where Dean wished he could spend more time at Bobby's place. It was rare for John to drop them off anymore, seeing as he and Sam were now considered old enough to hunt, but it was nice to have that break from hunting every once in a while.

The only reason he and Sam were ever left here these days was if John went off hunting with other people, which, quite frankly, wasn't often enough. It sucked, and Dean had lost count of the amount of times Sam had been put in danger because of their dad's stupid work ethic.

Bobby wasn't like that. Bobby had never believed that they should have to hunt unless they wanted to. He'd never straight out said that to John's face, but he used to mention it quietly when Dean helped make dinner.

There were lots of things Bobby said to him in confidence.

But it wasn't just the conversations and the lack of hunting that Dean liked. He missed that temporary freedom of essentially getting to do everything he wanted.

Obviously when they stayed with Bobby they still had to help with chores and stuff, but that was actually kind of okay. Like, cooking was fun. Bobby had taught him how to make lasagne and pie and all this other great stuff that wasn't always available when they were out on the road.

Or if it was, it all tasted like shit in comparison.

Basically, Dean liked to pretend he and Sam were human while they were in Bobby's house. The guy himself was a human after all, and they got to do human things, so that was always a plus.

There were times when Dean tried to hide all evidence of his demonic heritage, wanting to see just how differently he could be treated in the community. Obviously it only worked in the places where people hadn't seen him with his dad before, but it was still pretty interesting.

Just thinking about it reminded him of something Castiel had said about angels - how it was the fear of their kind that put people off, or made them more hostile - and in a way, that same ideal could be applied to demons.

Except Dean didn't really get why it was the demons that were respected out of the two, not that he should really be complaining. Humans seemed to be just as wary of them both, but like Cas had said a few times: more often than not demons took pleasure in hunting (or just plain killing, as the guy had put it) and yet there never seemed to be any reports of angels doing the same. Sure, that could've had something to do with the fact that there were far less angels in America than there were demons, but John had bigged them up to essentially be portrayed as intelligent killers. If that was the case, then wouldn't the Union promote the eradication of their kind as opposed to issuing their protection?

Dean threw the ball for the dog again, stretching his arms above his head as he mulled over his thoughts.

Maybe the angels were protected because they were more valuable. From what Dean understood, Cas could do a hell of a lot more than a demon, and as deadly as it was, it was also way more useful. Even Dean's abilities were sub par in comparison and he doubted that he'd win in a fight against the angel now that he knew what they could do. Not that he'd want to fight an angel again. If he'd known everything Cas was capable of before trying to take him down in the forest, he wouldn't have let Cas anywhere fucking near him.

Dean scratched the back of his neck when the skin began to itch, and he grimaced, kicking at the floor.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he have one decent thought without the topic reverting back to hunting, and angels, and fucking _Castiel!_

Well, not _fucking_ as in the activity because that wasn't something he'd ...

Oh.

Oh wow. Okay.

Fantastic.

He really needed those kind of images in his head right now.

 *

Castiel sat on the ledge outside the mouth of his cave, staring up at the stars that littered the pink of the sky. It was somewhat fortunate that he should wake in time to watch the sun set, more so to distract him from his nightmare than anything else. Well, obviously the sky looked beautiful at this time of night and Castiel had always been partial to watching the evenfall take over, but that was why he supposed it was such a good distraction. It was familiar and pleasant, accompanied by the gentle warmth of the lingering sun. There wasn't a single flaw, making up for the absence of anything remotely similar in his dreams, and it was more than just a little relaxing, allowing Castiel to create his own make-believe scenarios whilst he was conscious. 

There wasn't all that much Castiel wanted in his life. Not anymore. He'd adapted to his situation, and apart from a few minor changes in terms of his housing he wasn't actually all that fussed about it. It was the work, and the expenses, and the general treatment he received that he wished he could change. That'd take care of even the most minute problems he suffered from, yet, like world peace, Castiel knew it just wasn't going to happen.

Much like his chances of acquiring an education. That was something he could never really pursue even if the laws in the hunting community had become a little more strict. Given the most recent events, Castiel doubted he'd be safe attempting to live as a human. Ever.

Which, of course, would make it just as dangerous for him to pursue a relationship.

It wasn't that Castiel desired intimacy or anything of the sort because in all honesty, as arrogant as it was, he'd never had an issue finding a willing partner at a bar in the past. No, it was the permanence he wanted. One night stands were alright for the most part, aside from the times Castiel had drunk himself into a state of darkness which had ultimately eradicated any memory of his original intent, thus rendering it pointless; but he didn't want to have to leave as early as he could to prevent having to explain himself or engage in awkward conversation.

He'd tried it before though, deeming it a selfish and utterly stupid act overall.

He didn't want anyone else to be hurt because of their connection to him.

Castiel grimaced, bringing his knees up to his chest as he splayed his wings out to keep his balance on the rock ledge, his stomach churning. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to distract him from his nightmare. Dreaming was one thing, but he hated when reality wormed its way into his thoughts. That pretty much ruined it.

He watched the pink in the sky turn purple, chewing on his lower lip. It was exhausting to try and think about something else, and he didn't have much else to distract him, so when he heard the quiet beep of his cell phone from where he'd left it inside, he clambered down from the ledge to go grab it in a matter of seconds.

He was confused by the fact that it wasn't a phone call, and, admittedly, a little disappointed, but he opened the message anyway, somewhat wary.

**Unknown: Are you awake?**

Castiel blinked down at the screen, reading over the line a few times before another message appeared below it.

**Unknown: Actually no**

**Unknown: Ignore me**

**Unknown: Fuck this is embarrassing** **i** **dont even knw if this numbers even real or not**

It was blatantly obvious who it was before the boy even clarified with a **'Its dean btw** ', even if the 'btw' aspect was completely lost on him. He considered typing out a reply, slightly worried as to whether this would be the method they went about communicating. It would be more than a little humiliating if he couldn't understand something else Dean said, and he was just as bad at writing his own replies as he was at reading. Although Dean didn't seem like the mocking type, Castiel didn't want to be made into a joke.

He wet his lips, saving the number to his phone under Dean's name before rereading the messages again, tapping his finger against the side of the plastic.

Dean was _expecting_ some kind of reply, so shouldn't he answer now? Even if it was getting late?

Castiel pressed call without much thought, bringing the phone up to his ear, listening to the few rings that followed. He couldn't help but smile when the call picked up and a timid 'hello?' was murmured into the mouthpiece.

"So you miss me already, huh?" Castiel teased brightly, walking back out to the mouth of his cave to ensure better reception. "You know, you could have just called. No need for all your little messages."

"I didn't know if you'd be asleep or not!" Dean blurted, and Castiel grinned, seating himself back on the ledge. 

"I would have still answered your call, moron," Castiel insisted, pushing the hair from his forehead. "But why aren't _you_ asleep, Dean? It's getting kind of late."

The demon sighed. "Because the motel I chose sucks and I can't sleep with this much noise outside my damn window."

Castiel pursed his lips, shuffling a little to get more comfortable. "Your uncle not home?"

"Nah. He'll be back tomorrow though," Dean said, and it was the certainty in his tone that made Castiel relax that little bit more. Obviously he would have preferred it if Dean had been housed properly that night, but atleast the boy would have things resolved come morning.

"How you holding up by the way? You haven't been sick or anything again have you?"

"No," Castiel mumbled. "I just ... I feel tired. More tired than usual anyway. There's nothing to worry about."

"If you're so tired then why aren't _you_ sleeping, Castiel?"

"I woke up about two hours ago," Castiel informed him. "Getting back to sleep has always been difficult."

"Want me to sing you a lullaby?" Dean offered jokingly, and Castiel huffed out a laugh, looking up at the stars.

"That's cute, Dean."

"What was that? You think I'm cute?"

"No, I ..." Castiel could feel the flush creep up the back of his neck. "Dean, you're about as cute as an elephant seal."

"Well, seals are generally adorable so ..." There was a pause, and Castiel waited patiently for the boy to catch on.

"Wait, are those the ones that have a dick on their face?!"

"The resemblance is uncanny," Castiel remarked as seriously as he could.

"I'm way more attractive than one of those things, you asshole!"

Castiel smirked, rising to his feet to walk the length of the ledge, his wings splaying out once more. "And more arrogant, so it seems."

"But ... you admit that I'm attractive?" Dean followed up smugly, and Castiel rolled his eyes, his bare feet padding silently over the stone. He should have known to expect Dean's vanity, but it was amusing just how much Dean seemed to be doting on his opinion, even if all Castiel would be doing was boosting the kid's ego.

"Well, seeing as you've called me pretty before, I may as well return the compliment," he said softly, making Dean laugh. _That_ made him smile wider, more so considering the fact that Dean probably wasn't in the best of places at the moment, so to hear such a happy sound was pretty great.

"When the hell did I say that?" Dean asked, but his voice still held that light tone, allowing Castiel to feel more free to talk about whatever he wanted. It really was strange to be able to feel as such, but Castiel was simply glad he had that confidence to talk period. Sure he could argue, and bar fights were practically a norm, but this kind of joking conversation was way harder to come by and it was so fucking refreshing to not have to force himself to feign anything.

"When you first put the handcuffs on me," he murmured, turning on the balls of his feet to start walking in the opposite direction again. 

He wasn't all that pissed about it anymore, but that was more to do with the fact that it was Dean who'd said it.

And because the kid hadn't tried to molest him in any way, shape or form afterwards.

"... I ... fuck, Cas - I forgot I said that. I'm sorry."

Castiel hopped down off the ledge, his shirt rising up a little with the action. "That's okay. If anything I see it as a compliment," he replied, muffling a yawn behind the back of his hand. "It's not often that nice people call me pretty."

"Dude, that doesn't justify anything," Dean argued. "I was being a jerk. Even if I called you that now it'd probably sound just as condescending - n-not that I'm gonna repeat it, cos' that's ... Christ. Can we change the subject or something? This is getting kinda awkward."

"My apologies," Castiel smirked. Dean seemed to find it relatively easy to become flustered over such small issues, and it was somewhat endearing. "What would you like to talk about instead?"

"I don't know. You choose," the boy mumbled in response.

"You were the one who wanted to change the topic."

"Cas ..."

"Okay," Castiel said quietly, scratching his forehead. "Okay, well ... I never got to ask how _you_ were. Are you doing alright on your own so far?"

Dean went silent for a moment so Castiel started on down the slope toward the spring, moving slowly between the trees to reach the bank. He was beginning to find Dean's lack of reply somewhat unnerving, and he didn't really know what he could brighten his thoughts with whilst Dean went about considering what it was he was going to say.

"Not ... not really. No."

Castiel stalled, having thought that the demon would have opted for a different response. It wasn't that saying as such was a burden. He was just surprised that Dean had been straight out honest with him.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" He prompted gently, turning back to return toward his home.

Dean let out a heavy breath on the other end of the line, and Castiel frowned, shifting his phone to his other ear so he could trace a hand along the rock face.

"My dad got so pissed before, Cas. He thinks you fucked up my brother," Dean muttered, and Castiel could hear a slight rustling over the sound of his voice. He took a few steps closer to the cavern mouth to prevent the connection from faltering, just in case it was down to static. He knew the reception around these parts could be crap at times, owing to the fact that he was practically out in the middle of nowhere, so he stepped up onto the ledge again, looking down over the forest as he regained his balance, hoping that maybe this would lower the chances of the signal cutting out.

"I didn't, Dean - he's going to be fine," Castiel assured him. "I wouldn't have hurt either of you."

"No, Cas. I know," the boy practically whispered, and Castiel could hear the waver of his voice and it had him panicking because as much as he wanted to know how Dean was feeling, he did  _not_ want to upset him further. "But he made Sam cry, and I hate seeing Sam cry and it wasn't fucking fair on him to have to see my dad so angry!"

Castiel swallowed thickly, rubbing a hand down his face as he tried to come up with a reply of sorts. He was the reason Dean had been abandoned, and here he was struggling to think up a sympathetic response because he was a selfish bastard and hadn't wanted to spend his time making sure that Dean was okay! He knew that Dean didn't like being on his own - that the kid was going through a lot and solitude would most likely only make things harder for him - and yet still Castiel had opted to return home.

Because he thought after the past few days, the normality of his isolation would prove to be better than having company.

"Do ... do you want me to come by?"

"W-what?"

"Do you want me to come by? For a while," Castiel repeated. "I don't mind, Dean. I've got shit all to do and I don't feel comfortable leaving you on your own when you've got worse problems than me."

"How is any of that worse than you being  _sick_?!"

Castiel smiled timidly. "This illness is nowhere near as permanent as you losing your family. And I'm worried about you." 

Dean went quiet again and Castiel started to pace the ledge, pulling at the hem of his shirt. He knew it was a ridiculous proposition and it'd most likely wear him out, but Dean needed some form of support right now and if the kid's family was too busy to be there for him then Castiel sure as fuck didn't mind taking their place.

"I guess you need the address." 

*

Dean held onto Castiel tightly, burying his face in the crook of the angel's neck, closing his eyes when Cas' hand cupped the back of his head.

"Your wings are cool," he mumbled, touching at the back of Castiel's shirt where the light had disappeared. He'd only caught a glimpse of them for a couple of seconds, but they were pretty hard to miss. They were way brighter than his Grace, and they'd sort of lit up the granite where they rested against it, but other than being what he could only assume was an outline of the light, he didn't see feathers or anything remotely similar.

Cas pulled back, ruffling Dean's hair a little before holding out the shirt Dean had leant to him earlier. "I'm just surprised they carried me this far. They're pretty pathetic at the best of times."

Dean smiled, gently taking hold of the clothing before taking a step back to clear the doorway, trying not to think about how similar it was to the first time they'd met. "Well, they don't look all that pathetic," he insisted when Cas stepped inside, closing the door behind them. "More impressive than a shadow."

Castiel smirked back at him, stretching his arms above his head. "Flirt."

Dean could feel his face flush but he held Castiel's stare regardless, smiling a little bit wider. "Just being honest."

Cas ducked his head, his eyes flashing violet and his cheeks slightly pink, and yeah. Dean needed to stop getting distracted by Cas' appearance.

The angel wandered over to the bed, picking up the comic book from where Dean had left it on the mattress, staring down at the cover.

"Very interesting artwork," Castiel murmured, but the amusement was clear in his voice, and Dean all but skipped over because this was yet another comic he could talk at lengths about.

"Everything about it's interesting. The guy's basically like the comic book version of a hunter," Dean chirped, glancing at it from over Castiel's shoulder as he dropped the shirt to the bed. "I mean, I love the X-Men and all, but Constantine's fucking awesome."

"Who in their right mind would hunt dressed like that?" Castiel questioned, opening the comic before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Wearing a coat to a fight is pretty damn impractical."

Dean grinned, sitting down beside him and reaching across to flick forward a couple more pages. "But where else would he keep all his weapony stuff. Plus it's got like demonic powers, so you know. It's kind of helpful."

"I'm sure it is," Castiel hummed, his eyes skimming over the images even as Dean skipped through it. Dean turned his attention to Cas' expression for a moment, taking in the slight smile and the arched eyebrow, like the angel found the whole thing entertaining. "May I ask how many comics you actually own?"

Dean thought about it for a moment, his finger lingering on the page. "Do you mean, like, physical copies, or digital? Cos' I basically have the whole Psylocke storyline saved on my laptop, as well as some Batman stuff and most of the Hellblazer collection."

"So they're not all hard copies?"

"Nah. I only really buy copies that have my favourite stories included," Dean told him, timidly resting his head on Cas' shoulder when the angel moved closer.

"'Buy', or steal?" Castiel asked teasingly, laughing when Dean elbowed him in the ribs.

"You're a jerk," Dean huffed, snatching the comic so he could put it back in his duffle along with his returned shirt.

"I only asked you a question," Castiel stated lightly, knocking their temples together before getting to his feet to take a couple of steps forward, stretching once more as he turned to face him. "You know, I'm starting to think ..."

Cas stopped, staring at him for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes reverting back to blue. He walked over to Dean slowly, crouching a little before touching at his jaw. "Dean, what happened to your face?"

Dean turned his gaze to the floor, feeling his mouth go dry as he tried to come up with some kind of excuse. He knew that retelling the events would probably piss Cas off more than anything, what with the way Cas had spoken about Dean's dad before. He seemed to have a lot of problems with the way Dean had been brought up, and although it wasn't really any of the angel's business, Dean didn't want Cas to go off on one when it wasn't even serious.

"My ... my uncle's dog knocked me down earlier," Dean started, his face burning hotter. "He's, uhhh ... he's sorta big and I wasn't really ... yeah."

Castiel encouraged Dean to turn his head to the side, tenderly brushing a thumb over the bruise on Dean's cheek, but then he felt that weird foreign buzz beneath his skin that had him grabbing the angel's wrist, holding it at bay.

"Cas, I don't want you wasting your Grace on me when you need to focus on getting better," he insisted as sternly as he could. _  
_

"Too late," Castiel replied, chucking him under the chin before flopping beside him on the mattress, laying back. "You're in a shittier place than I am at the moment and I'm gonna try my best to make it easier for you."

Dean lay down beside him, gently throwing the comic toward the pillows. He frowned when Castiel propped himself up on an elbow, leaning over him with an almost shy expression on his face that was making Dean feel all kinds of fucked up things in his chest.

"You're an idiot," Dean stated, shoving at Cas weakly.

_A really fucking attractive idiot_.

Castiel continued to look at him, resting his cheek in a hand and pursing his lips as his eyes locked on Dean's, and it  _really_ wasn't helping Dean's situation. 

Hell, Dean didn't even know what his situation  _was_!

Cas was great. Like, awesome. He was a nice enough guy and Dean liked talking to him - but that was normal, right? Liking someone for being nice?

The thing was, Dean knew that wasn't really the case. Just cos' he'd never had the chance to really befriend anyone before didn't mean he was ignorant, because he knew for a _fact_ these ... these feelings weren't the fucking 'friend' kind!

And for him to find himself  _this_ fucking attracted to a dude was a different problem entirely, because yeah, he might've made out with two or three other guys in the past, but that was more ... that was more to do with wanting to find out what the big deal about it was. His dad had always said it was wrong, but Dean didn't really see anything that different about it, because in all honesty, it'd been exactly the same as when he'd kissed girls.

Obviously, addressing something like that would've probably gotten him kicked out sooner than he had been, which was why he'd been so against bringing up the fact that he and Cas had made a deal because that probably would've given John an aneurysm.

Well, part of that would have been down to the fact that Cas was an angel, but the whole two-guys-kissing thing would have made it a hell of a lot worse.

And Dean wasn't gay! _He wasn't!_ He might not have much sexual experience, but he was pretty damn sure that he preferred girls. Not that it really made any difference because he'd never done much more than simply kissing with anyone, but that wasn't the fucking point. Liking Cas was more than just liking a guy, and it wasn't just because he was also an angel. Cas was older. Like ... shit, Dean didn't even know; but the fact that Cas thought of him as a 'child' was practically all Dean needed to understand that this was really, really stupid, and that his brain was incredibly fucked up.

God. He didn't even know what he could do to stop feeling this way. Maybe letting Cas come round - or even calling the guy for a start - wasn't such a great idea, but he'd _known_ that. He'd known that since he'd sprung a fucking boner back at the scrapyard because people  _don't think about their friends that way_ , and they sure as hell don't get a hard on if a thought like that accidentally makes itself known. 

But he  _hated_ being on his own, and if Cas was offering to spend time with him, then he'd be a moron to turn away the company.

"Dean," the angel murmured, almost as if he were trying to get his attention.  _That_ was embarrassing to think about seeing as Dean had been staring at him for ... probably a ridiculously long amount of time if the light blush on Castiel's face was anything to go by, so Dean looked to the ceiling for a brief moment, trying not to let his fluster show as he tried to get his shit together.

"Yup."

Castiel shifted, his hair flopping down onto his forehead as he wet his lips. "I wanted to ask you about your eyes."

Dean could feel his chest get a little tighter but still he rolled over to mirror Castiel's position. "If that means I can ask about yours, then by all means, Psylocke. Be my guest."

Castiel pouted, and Dean grinned, directing his shadow beneath the bed to prevent it from curling around the angel like it'd done last time. He really needed to start concentrating more, and thinking about Cas, and how attractive he was, and other shit like that was gonna make this more difficult than needs be.

"Fine," Castiel shrugged, so Dean sat up, crossing his legs on the mattress as he thought over what he could say. He'd been asked about them before, and Cas had sort of commented on how strange the colour was the other day, but he hadn't thought them so interesting that Cas would want to ask about them. Castiel's eyes, on the other hand, were far cooler, so Dean was kind of grateful he'd get to find out why they changed and all that malarkey.

"So you want to know why my eyes are green instead of the 'normal' colour, right?" He chirped, trying to make his appearance brighter, and Cas nodded slightly, his free hand toying with the surface of the comforter. 

"Well," he started, looking off toward the curtains. "It's cos' my mom was a human, and they have a different gene make up to us or something. I mean, her eyes were blue, but she used to say that-"

"Wait, you're  _half-human_?" Castiel interrupted, and Dean started picking at the denim of his jeans again, a little uncomfortable with the change in Cas' tone.

"I-in a way. She was a psychic as well, which I guess is why me and Sammy have ... why we're different," Dean continued, pulling a thread loose. "I get why you'd think it's weird though. Dad looked into getting me contacts because the other hunters always look at me funny when I'm with him, but I dunno. Green eyes are fine with me."

He waited a while, not really wanting to look up seeing as he knew Cas was still staring at him, but when Cas didn't remark on anything Dean had said, Dean took it upon himself to divert the attention.

"Okay. Your turn," he prompted, keeping his head hung low. "Why'd your eyes go all blue and purpley and stuff?"

He picked at another thread, his blunt nails cratching at the denim until one of Castiel's hands carefully took hold of Dean's wrist, almost in a form of distraction.

"Angelic bloodlines affect the colour of our irises," Cas began softly, his weight shifting on the mattress as he sat up properly. "My parents didn't like to talk about it much - they didn't like to talk about our heritage at all if it could be helped - but I know I got the blue from my mom and the purple from my dad because that was the colour of their eyes. We basically inherit the most prominent colours from out parents."

Castiel's hand loosened, his palm brushing Dean's knuckles. "Now, the whole changing thing is a little more complicated. There's, uhhh ... it's like a family resemblance. I think. It's difficult to say. From what I understand, the change can be down to personality traits, or emotion, or just how comfortable I am. Like I said, my parents didn't talk that much about it, and it's not like I can see it when it happens, so I'm sorry. I can't really give you a detailed explanation."

Dean watched the way Cas' thumb drew over the back of his wrist and he looked up to meet Castiel's gaze, surprised to find the sad expression on his face. Well, Dean probably should have expected it. The last time Cas had brought up the subject of his family he'd looked pretty sad then too.

He shuffled into a better position, rising up on his knees to wrap both arms around Castiel's neck, even if it did make his bullet wound ache a little; and Castiel responded slowly, one of his hands coming up to rest on Dean's waist.

"I don't get why your dad'd want you to wear contacts though," Castiel whispered, smiling slightly. "There's nothing wrong with the colour of your eyes."

Dean tried to smile back but knowing he'd ruined Cas' good mood again had him wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut.

"My dad used to wear contacts a lot of the time though," the angel muttered, leaning back a little, encouraging Dean to draw back into his previous seated position. "Purple and gold's not exactly inconspicuous."

"They turned gold?" Dean asked, and the angel smiled a little wider, though it wasn't anywhere near as bright as Dean wanted it to be.

"Yeah. Mom's turned sort of grey, so obviously she didn't really have to try and conceal them at all, but dad couldn't do much to hide the colour until around the time I was born. Not that he really needed to," Castiel added. "Only my mom was working up until that point, but he wanted to get work to help out with the bills. And the contacts stopped humans from thinking him a freak I guess."

Dean watched Castiel's eyes flood with blue again, the angel's dark lashes emphasising their vibrancy.

"Judging by your expression, I'm not doing a very good job at keeping your spirits high."

Dean did manage to smile at that, but he moved to get off the bed, maneuvering himself so he didn't accidentally kick Castiel in the process. "You're doing better than I would have done if our roles were reversed."

"Was that another compliment?" Castiel followed up jokingly, his voice somewhat lower. "You're full of compliments today, Dean."

Dean crouched beside his duffle, rooting around for clean clothes. It wasn't that he was embarrassed that Cas had noticed because that's what he wanted. Cas was worrying way more than he needed to. It was sweet and it might've made Dean feel a little weird, but he'd never had anyone other than those he'd thought of as family to be this caring, and other than being as kind as possible, what else could Dean do? Cas was being so friggin' nice and open with him, and Dean wasn't exactly used to it. He didn't know  _how_ he should react.

"I'll be back to compliment you again, Cas," he grinned from his crouched position on the floor. "I wanna take a shower first."

"Kid, it's like ten. Why the hell have you left it so late?"

"Because I was doing other stuff before I called, and I didn't know if I'd have enough time before you got here," Dean informed him, shoving at the angel's nearest foot. "Now get your feet off my bed, asshole. I have to sleep there later."

Castiel seemed to be watching him with a certain air of caution as he altered his position, and Dean rolled his eyes, his face heating up again as he headed to the bathroom. At least whilst he showered he could have some sort of closure for a couple of minutes, even if that was totally contradictory of what he actually wanted because  _already_ he missed having Cas nearby and they were only four fucking feet apart. 

How fucking needy could he get?

*

Castiel hadn't thought he'd fall asleep. He'd been surprised to wake up with the demon's face pillowed against his chest, the tv still on across the room and Dean's shadow twined around his legs; but he didn't really give a shit because this was the first time in a long while he'd been able to fall asleep twice in a single day and he couldn't find it in him to complain simply cos' he had a kid sprawled across him.

He yawned, looking to the closed curtains as the windows rattled with yet another oncoming train. He'd heard it happen a couple of times now so he was beginning to understand why Dean had had such a problem getting to sleep to begin with, but he was just glad the boy had managed to fall asleep since then, especially since a lack of sleep could only make Dean more emotional.

As of yet, he actually thought Dean had been coping pretty well. Maybe he was a little quieter than he'd been back at the cabin, and maybe he was a bit tenser, but Castiel wasn't gonna bring it up in their next conversation. Dean was going to be fine.

Castiel, on the other hand, did not know if things were going to go as well for himself as he'd initially thought.

He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh as he directed his Grace toward the lower part of his abdomen, dissolving the pain with his energy. He admittedly hadn't been focusing on the damage done to his body as much as he should have, and flying to the motel hadn't exactly made him stronger, but at least now he knew how much of his Grace he'd have to sacrifice to ensure his healing, even if that meant he wouldn't be able to do much at all for the next week or so. It was a much better idea than risking more pain.

He squirmed when Dean's shadow twitched a little against his thigh, the darkness coiling over the material of his jeans as Dean shifted in his sleep, but he tried to keep as still as possible, not really wanting to wake Dean up. Just because he himself was awake didn't mean he should get the boy up too, even if Castiel did think it sensible for him to leave soon. It was true that he didn't have anything else to do, but he felt like he was over staying his welcome. Spending time with the boy was one thing but he shouldn't have stayed so late that they'd both ended up falling asleep. Especially when it meant Dean had lay cramped with him on the single bed. It wasn't fair of Castiel to potentially make it more uncomfortable for the kid.

But he waited patiently for Dean to wake up of his own accord, counting the stains on the ceiling several times over to keep himself occupied for a while and checking his phone for the time every so often.

It was almost five when Dean moved again, his shadow unfurling slightly, and Castiel pushed his fingers through the boy's hair gently, smiling when Dean tipped his head back into the touch.

But then Dean was sitting up and his shadow was drawing in tight beneath him, the tips of his ears slightly red.

"You alright, Dean?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

Dean blinked a couple of times, looking around him. "Yeah, I just ... I didn't mean to fall asleep on you, Cas. I'm sorry," the boy mumbled, somewhat hunched forward as he rubbed at his eyes. He still looked half asleep, his movements sluggish now that he'd sat upright and his right cheek darker in colour than the other from where it had been pressed to Castiel's chest.

Castiel groaned, pushing himself up properly to shove lightly at the boy's head. "You apologise for the stupidest fucking things."

"Not really," Dean huffed, crossing his legs on the mattress. "I'd rather apologise than have you pissed at me for making you uncomfortable."

Castiel scrubbed at his jaw. "Right, well, you didn't make me uncomfortable, so there's no reason to apologise. Okay?"

Dean didn't reply but Castiel wasn't going to try and coax a response out of him. He really should be heading back home, even if he didn't particularly want to leave Dean just yet.

"Can I ask a favour?" He murmured, getting up from the bed, and Dean looked at him with wide eyes, his cheeks still slightly pink.

"Yeah. Of course, dude."

"Would you be able to take me back to the forest?" He enquired, cringing at the sudden downcast expression on Dean's face. "It's not that I don't want to spend time with you if that's what you're thinking, because if I didn't feel as crap as I do I'd happily hang around until you checked out your uncle's place."

"Wait - are you not feeling well?"

Castiel sighed, looking off to the window again. "I used up a lot of my Grace to get here, Dean, and it's making things more difficult in terms of healing myself. I know it's selfish considering everything you've been through but I really need to concentrate before things get any worse."

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me over the phone, Cas!" Dean blundered "You shouldn't have wasted your Grace to come see me - healing yourself is important!"

"In my defense, I didn't expect it to affect me like this after I'd healed myself of all the others issues."

"But you don't even know what it is you're healing!"

Castiel clenched his jaw. "We've already been over this."

"I don't care!" Dean shouted. "It doesn't change the fact that you could still die!"

"Oh please," Castiel snorted bitterly. "What difference is it going to make? I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but my kind don't tend to live past the age of thirty. At this rate I doubt I'll even make it to twenty-five."

Dean stared up at him slack-jawed, his eyes shiny with what Castiel could only assume were tears, and Castiel frowned, going to sit beside him on the mattress.

"Ignore me, Dean. I just can't afford to be optimistic," he grimaced, staring off at the wall opposite the bed to avoid eye contact. "I know for a fact this illness isn't going to kill me though. The reason I'm struggling at the moment is because it's poisoned my blood, and, uhhh ... that's quite a lot to heal myself of."

Dean leant against his side stiffly, their thighs brushing as Dean unfolded his bare legs to drape them over the end of the bed. "Can you just promise that you won't hunt or anything until you're better? Like, as in 'fully healed' kind of better?" He whispered, and Castiel forced a smile when he looked down at the boy, his throat feeling tight.

"Yeah. I promise."

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit. Castiel should have phoned earlier when he'd had the chance. He'd wasted so much time doing nothing when he'd known phoning the kid should have taken precedence. Hell, what if Dean's uncle still hadn't returned and the demon had been left alone again?  
> Right. Okay. He'd phone in the morning. First thing.  
> Maybe not first thing actually. He didn't want to call and consequently wake the kid up.  
> Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I know it's been almost a whole year since I last updated, but I've been stupidly busy with building a portfolio for uni, and working to earn money and all that malarkey.  
> Also my writer's block has been pretty bad but I'm not even gonna start getting into that because it's frustrating as heck ESPECIALLY SINCE I SIGNED UP TO DCBB THINKING IT WOULD BE FUN, but I'll chill out eventually. Hopefully.
> 
> Anyway, the reason I picked this fic up again was because a wonderful thing has happened, boys and girls! Not only have I secured a place at university to study animation, but THEY'VE CAST OLIVIA MUNN TO PLAY PSYLOCKE IN X-MEN: APOCALYPSE AND I'M JUST SO  
> I literally have no words. I've waited years for this and yes I will admit I cried a lil' bit in excitement, but yeah. I'm super duper happy right now.
> 
> Also, the season finale was actually okay?? Like, overall I genuinely enjoyed this season way more than I thought I would.  
> Then again, that might be down to the fact that season 9 was all over the place, and this was marginally more organised in terms of plot, but yeah.
> 
> Sorry this message was meant to be short and sweet but I got carried away and it'll look weird if I cut out certain bits, so I'm just gonna leave it.  
> Now I've got a ton of work I have to prep for my final art show in a week, seeing as I left the project til last minute, as per usual, BUT I WILL RETURN SOON

Castiel would be lying if he said he didn't miss Dean the moment they parted in the woods, glancing back once to catch the boy's gaze before Dean was replaced by the light dusting of ash. There were words circling in his mind, ridiculous propositions and questions that could potentially brighten the expression on Dean's face. Words that he'd swallowed with a smile and light wave as he'd backed away.

Maybe the whole missing Dean thing was more to do with regret than anything else. He should have said more to keep the kid's spirits up.

Well. There wasn't much he could do about it now. Dean would be fine anyway.

Castiel would call him later to make sure everything was alright, just in case. 

He stopped momentarily to get his bearings, somewhat dazed as he looked about him. He hadn't actually been focused on any particular direction as he'd walked away, distracted and caught up in his thoughts; so he glanced up to the trees, squinting as the sun glared down through the foliage. He wasn't too far from the nearest clearing, so he figured it wasn't too bad an idea to check the trap he'd lain there before heading back home.

It was rare for him to ever find anything, but most of that was down to his laziness. He'd stopped exploring the area months back, laying traps in the same place so that he could focus on his job more than he could scavenging.

It was tiresome these days anyway; digging pitfalls and weaving ropes. 

Actually, that was a lie. It had always been tiresome. 

Now it was just a lot worse.

His current condition wasn't going to help with that, regardless of whether or not he wanted to relocate the traps now.

He skidded down the bank surprisingly gracefully, his shoes stirring up the dry dirt into a dust cloud that loitered around his ankles for a few moments as he continued to walk forward. Part of him actually hoped there was nothing waiting for him in the trap because killing the creature was effort. So was skinning. And cooking. Even fucking eating was something Castiel didn't feel up to right now, and yes, it was confusing considering just how little he'd eaten over the past day and a half, but he just couldn't be bothered.

Maybe later? After a bath?

Castiel sighed, pushing his way through the thicket to step into the clearing. In all honesty, he didn't know what he wanted to do. He rarely got the chance to relax, almost constantly on edge, but he felt a certain safety since meeting Dean.

Despite just how shady their whole relationship was.

Jesus. Castiel shouldn't even be wanting to meet up with the kid. It was all sorts of fucked up, and if another demon - or any other kind of hunter for that matter - caught wind of what their relationship was like, then either one of them could be in trouble.

Well, Castiel already expected trouble wherever he went, but Dean didn't deserve that sort of shit just because they'd met up a couple of times.

It was complicated to say the least. 

Castiel spent the few following minutes adjusting the mesh concealing his trap, clearing away the dead shrubbery to replace it with fresh plants and the like, making it all that bit more inconspicuous. 

He'd gotten a lot better at perfecting his traps over the past few years, and in some instances, he was even proud of himself for making them so discreet. Of course, he'd feel a lot prouder if he actually  _caught_ animals on a regular basis because of it, as opposed to the odd rabbit every other week or so. It was frustrating how nothing ever seemed to go in his favour. 

He knew full well that moving his traps to a less obvious location would help better his chances, but he didn't really need to busy himself with that right now. Perhaps later in the week, after he'd fed himself properly and rested enough to summon the energy for such a laborious task.

The rest of the day seemed to pass incredibly slowly, with the summer heat making it horribly uncomfortable to stay out on the rock face for longer than half an hour at a time. The weather wasn't that unbearable overall, but the rock was hot beneath the soles of his feet and it was the only part of the woodland that didn't seem to be covered in shade. Even the spring was hidden beneath the shadow of the forest at this hour, the sun gradually lowering itself over the mountains as the sky was streaked with reds and purples.

Castiel stood at the mouth of his cave, staring out and watching the leaves twitch with the gentle summer breeze. There was still a fair portion of the forest that he had yet to learn, but he didn't want to risk being seen wandering about the areas frequented by tourists and the like. He knew that camping out in these sections was illegal, and he wasn't all that keen on the idea of moving to an unfamiliar section and recreating everything he'd built here. He doubted he'd ever have as much energy as he'd had those few years ago. 

He altered his train of thought, like he did most times the topic of change arose, turning to head back into the cavern. Even though he knew sleep wouldn't come to him for several hours, he still longed to try, knowing that it was better than staring at a few select objects until the natural light chased after the sun. Of course, he had methods of providing himself with light whenever he wished, but he wanted to conserve energy right now, not waste it on pointless moments that would only keep him conscious longer.

Or rather, moments that would keep him from _trying_ to fall unconscious.

The thought of his recurring dream wasn't even off-putting right now, no matter how terrifying it could often be. Sleep was all he had, understanding that it would at least get him through another day.

And yes, maybe trying to fall asleep was a challenge in itself, but over the past few days he'd found it far easier to succumb to the nightmare. Not only that, but he was also both physically and mentally exhausted. Sleep would definitely benefit in some way or another.

Of course, the moment he lay on his mattress he knew that it would be a struggle. He twisted in his light sheets, his futon stiff beneath his body from its tightly packed frame, creaking ever so slightly with every movement.

It felt odd; being alone.

That in itself was odd, seeing as he was ever so used to it. In addition to the fact that he didn't want anyone with him.

But still, it circulated in his thoughts, causing him to fidget and find a more comfortable position in his bedding. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, irritated by his inability to cease the feeling of longing. He didn't understand it nor did he understand why it was so prominent now, of all times. This was a feeling he hadn't experienced in over eight years.

Obviously, back then he'd had a reason to feel alone. Everyone was dead and he was still unused to the abuse that the other hunters deemed appropriate.

But he didn't need those kind of negative memories making his discomfort worse.

He rolled over yet again, tugging the edge of his blanket up to his chin. Maybe this was all stirring in his mind now because he was still partially worried about Dean, and how Castiel had left the kid all alone. Again.

Phoning now to check up on him wasn't really going to help matters though. It was coming up to midnight and he was fairly certain Dean would have phoned if he were struggling. 

Then again, given the boy's bizarre personality, he doubted Dean would have phoned after the way he reacted earlier regarding Castiel's weariness. Perhaps it was a little arrogant for him to think as such, but it wouldn't be all that unbelievable if that was indeed the case. Dean had even said that he wouldn't have requested Castiel's company if he'd known about just how much energy it would have wasted.

Well. It was something along those lines anyway. 

Shit. Castiel should have phoned earlier when he'd had the chance. He'd wasted so much time doing nothing when he'd known phoning the kid should have taken precedence. Hell, what if Dean's uncle still hadn't returned and the demon had been left alone again?

Right. Okay. He'd phone in the morning. First thing.

Maybe not first thing actually. He didn't want to call and consequently wake the kid up.

Fuck.

Should he just wait for Dean to phone him first? Or message him like he had the last time? For all he knew, Dean could have sorted everything out by now and had just been too busy to call, or text, or anything like that. That was completely reasonable.

Castiel still couldn't help but worry though.

He pushed himself up onto his palms, reaching across to grab his cellphone from the ledge beside his bed. It was definitely too late to call, but he could send a message to at least reassure Dean that he was welcome to talk whenever he so do desired.

Well, he would try his best to make that clear through a mixture of poor spelling and potentially wrong vocabulary.

Castiel flopped onto his back, wincing at the sudden pressure to his wound, but he quickly ignored it, focusing on the device he held above him.

At the tiny alert that flashed on his screen.

He felt his stomach drop and a panic rise in his chest, staring at the the print of Dean's name beside the small envelope image.

Dean  _had_ fucking messaged him.  _Four hours ago_.

Castiel had been too caught up in his fucking indolence to even bother checking his phone before.

He opened the message instantly, his eyes scouring the screen.

**Dean: Hey hey just checking up on you to make sure youre not dead or anything (but if this wakes you im super duper sorry and you can totally punch me for it the next time we meet up)**

Castiel's brow furrowed as he read through the message again. That ... well, it wasn't as concerning as he'd thought it'd be, but he still felt bad for not replying sooner. Dean had probably been expecting a reply quite some time ago, and Castiel felt incredibly bad to think that the boy was still worrying about him. 

**Castiel: I'm sorry I didn't realize you'd messaged me until just now. I'm fine don't worry**

Although he wasn't sure if what the text read was correct, he trusted the spellcheck to make it somewhat more understandable than what he'd initially put. Not that his initial spelling was so bad that it was undecipherable.

He wasn't completely ignorant.

 

*

 

Dean rested his chin on his arms, staring down at the cellphone laying in front of him. The cracked screen remained black, but Dean continued to watch it, hoping for even a text to light up the glass.

He could hear Bobby in the other room, the older man's voice kept low even though it was obvious he was angry. Dean hadn't told him much, knowing that it could get him in a shit ton of trouble with the rest of the hunter community, but he'd said enough to let Bobby know that what John had planned was pretty damn idiotic.

Dean knew damn well that his dad wasn't going to say anything about it either.

The thing was, Dean kinda did want to talk about it because he knew Bobby would understand. The only issue with that would be having to admit he'd let an angel fuck around with his brother's head and Bobby would probably be just as angry as John had been, regardless of whether the older man understood or not. Because they were both right. Dean had sorta put Sam in a dangerous position.

The only difference between John and Bobby was that Bobby wasn't stupid enough to want to try and kill an angel in the first place.

Dean pulled his phone toward him, continuing to stare at the inanimate screen. He didn't know whether or not now would be a good time to send Sam a text, given just how close it was to them being separated. John was probably expecting it.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. There weren't many options for him right now and he'd never been a patient person. He wanted to make sure Sammy was okay, and unless Bobby found out anything whilst arguing with John, Dean wasn't gonna know for a while.

It was settling because, yeah, Cas had healed him, but neither he nor Cas knew how it'd eventually pan out. 

That wasn't Castiel's fault though. The angel had helped in every way he could, and Dean wasn't criticising Cas' efforts at all. He just needed to know that the kid wasn't experiencing any side effects.

Even though it definitely seemed like Cas had taken on everything shitty already.

To be frank, Dean was still pretty worried about the guy too. Castiel wasn't all that open about his current state - and Dean wasn't expecting him to be - but he was willing to help in any which way he could so long as he could truly show his gratitude.

And that totally had nothing to do with Dean's ridiculous crush.

That was another reason why Dean didn't want to mention the most recent events. It made him feel a little sick to think of anyone finding out about that. Sam making the assumption was bad enough but Dean didn't want to drag the Winchester name through the mud by becoming associated with an angel.

Not that being associated to Cas was a  _bad_ thing in his opinion.

_Fuck._

He sat up straighter when he realised Bobby had ended the call, his eyes downcast and focussed on the tabletop as the older man's footsteps sounded in the room next door. He let his shadow wander around to where Bobby was situated, tracing the man's movement until Bobby was just a few footsteps from the doorway.

Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew what was gonna happen. Bobby wasn't just gonna let this lie, even if Dean had spun a vague story earlier. John was bound to have said something that put Dean in a bad light - even though Dean would gladly admit that he'd been an asshole to his dad, and he probably deserved to be put in this kind of awkward position - but still. He did it all to keep his family safe. Surely he deserved at least a little credit for keeping them all from being executed.

And sure, maybe he had potentially put Sam in danger, but like Cas had said: every hunt is a risk. 

Dean had just taken the most sensible risk.

Bobby seemed to halt in the doorway, so Dean's shadow retreated from beneath the older man's feet, twisting around the legs of his wooden chair to keep himself grounded. It wasn't that he was scared of talking, or that he was angry. He wanted to be confident where he usually wasn't around the parental figures in his life.

And he needed to be confident in order to be believable.

"I need yer help preppin' dinner."

Dean glanced to Bobby immediately, reading the stoic expression that he knew was concealing a hell of a lot more. Part of him was admittedly little bit scared of the overall outcome, even though he knew Bobby would never throw him out regardless of what he'd done, but it was the quiet tone in which he spoke, and the unreadable emotion on his face that made it all the more unsettling.

_Goodbye, confidence._

"O-okay," he stammered, scraping his chair back across the wooden floor to stand.

He was expecting some form of interrogation - even a couple more questions regarding the most recent events - but there was nothing. Nothing relating to that anyway.

Dean didn't really know what he expected, but he found the tension melting from his shoulders within minutes of Bobby instigating a conversation. Listening to the older man talk about his past week and his attempts to try and take Rumsfeld for a checkup at the vet's had a smile pulling at his lips, and although he had so many worries on his mind right now, it actually felt good to have a distraction like this.

He'd forgotten just how therapeutic it was: pretending he was human.

"That Harvelle girl's been askin' bout you," Bobby huffed, washing his hands in the sink, and Dean looked across to the older man timidly.

"That's a joke, right?" Dean mumbled, his face flushing. "She didn't seem to care all that much when I talked to her back then."

"Yeah, well, you clearly made quite the impression."

Dean scratched the side of his nose, ducking his head. Maybe he had flirted with her a little, but he'd been shut down pretty much almost immediately. At the time he'd been sorta bummed about it, because Harvelle was cute and she seemed like the kind of person Dean would want to hang out with more if given the chance, but she'd sorta come across as totally uninterested. Like, in friendship or anything.

He'd thought about it a lot, because they were similar in a lot of ways. He'd put her reclusive attitude down to a lack of social interaction, owing to the fact that Dean was pretty much exactly the same. Bobby had told him at the time that Ellen didn't hunt any more, keeping the kid holed up in the bar with only the company of the odd passerby and her own mother. 

Fleeting relationships were the only things that existed outside of familial connections within the hunting community, and Dean expected it to be a hell of a lot more difficult to make and maintain friendships when you couldn't even leave to meet up with anyone all that frequently.

Obviously, Dean didn't have many friends himself, so to hear that Jo was even slightly interested had him somewhat hopeful. Bobby was a close enough friend of Ellen's to drop by every so often, and Dean wanted to start making solid friendships himself, sorta tired of having no one but his family to talk to when things got rough.

And as amazingly helpful as Cas was, it wouldn't hurt to talk to other people too.

"Go lay the table, boy," the older man said softly, breaking Dean's train of thought. "I'll get all this plated up."

Bobby didn't touch on the subject again, but he also refrained from talking about the phone call, and it was starting to make Dean nervous all over again.

Because he _wanted_ to talk about what happened, and he also wanted to get any argument they might have out of the way and done. He didn't have a clue what  John had said, and it had started to gnaw at his thoughts again because he didn't know if any arrangements had been made between the two hunters or anything of the sort.

He might be missing Sam right now, but he was in no way ready to face his dad again.

Dean reached for his glass, swallowing thickly as he brought the rim to his lips. "Bobby, can I ask you something?" He questioned before taking a drink, hiding his face.

"Course you can."

He kept his eyes cast down as he pieced together the question in his mind, his glass placed gently on the table as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You believe what I said before, right? About wanting to protect Sam?"

He could feel the older man's gaze settle on him, but still he stared down at the tabletop, his shadow fidgeting on the wood floor as it traced the splintered boards.

"I don't want to get into that right now," Bobby grunted, followed by the gentle clatter of his cutlery being laid down on his plate. "I been lied to too much today to know who's tellin' the truth or not."

The words hurt more than Dean expected and he felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment, his hands falling to his lap. It wasn't exactly a specific answer, but he knew from the way it had been put that they'd insulted the older man with their attempts to hide the truth.

The thing was, Dean hadn't exactly kept much from Bobby. He'd been as honest as possible and simply left stuff out to avoid getting in worse trouble than he was already in. 

So what the hell had his dad said to fuck things up so much?

Bobby's chair scraped back across the floor but Dean didn't move an inch, the corners of his mouth pulled tight into a frown. He was desperate to get this conversation out of the way, but if Bobby wasn't at all in the mood to discuss it - regardless of how honest Dean chose to be - then maybe it was better to wait a day or so.

But,  _fuck_! Maybe it would be more sensible to talk about the situation in its entirety if it meant he'd get one up on his dad. Dean didn't want to get the blame for this, and maybe if Bobby understood where Dean had been coming from properly, then he could back Dean up if John tried to say the whole thing had been a danger to Sam.

It wasn't fair. Dean didn't want anyone getting in trouble, and although Bobby was one of the most trustworthy people he knew, he still didn't want to risk anything.

Especially if his dad hadn't said anything on the matter either. He didn't want John to get even angrier at him for talking about something like that.

Bobby's foot came down on the edge of his shadow and he flinched slightly, drawing it in close as the older man collected all the crockery from the table to take through to the kitchen. "I'll wash up tonight," Bobby announced gruffly, stacking everything in his arms. 

Dean knew not to argue, even though he didn't feel comfortable letting Bobby clean up after him. He had been welcomed into the home when Bobby still hadn't been told everything, and if anything, Dean should have been doing everything he could to say thank you right now.

But he quietly got up from the table, retreating to the corridor with his shadow dragging along the walls beside him. He felt incredibly guilty for making the situation worse. Bobby had put on a warm and casual front to make Dean feel more at ease, and Dean had questioned a topic that was more than just a little sensitive right now.

Okay, so in all honesty, he didn't actually know how that would have turned out. Sure, he'd been nervous - and rightly so - but given that he hadn't had a clue what his dad had said in the first place, he'd sort of expected a better reaction.

Because he was a fucking idiot.

He transported himself upstairs after grabbing his duffel from where it lay beside the front door. Usually he'd avoid teleporting anywhere whilst he was in Bobby's house, but seeing as he'd be the one vacuuming tomorrow, he figured on this occasion it'd be alright. 

Dean dropped his bag to the bed, sitting down beside it. His face was still hot, and his frustration was making his head ache, but he didn't have anything to take the edge off of it. Sleeping pills would do fuck all, apart from the obvious, but he wasn't really tired enough to want to go to sleep. Plus it was only, like, half six. For all he knew, Bobby might be open to conversation later, and he felt like he'd be being rude by going to bed now.

"Fucking hell," he whispered to himself, pushing a hand through his hair before reaching for his bag. He sat cross-legged with his back to the wall, his laptop resting comfortably on his knees, and his duffle to his side in case he needed his charger later on.

He browsed through the files, opening up the one containing his comic book collection before selecting the last one he'd bookmarked. Obviously he'd read through them all before, but it wasn't like he had much else to do in his spare time. He liked the stories anyway. Well. Most of them. Maybe the older editions of some X-Men storylines were a little drab, but the writing had definitely improved over time.

As had Psylocke's costume, but Dean held a different kind of appreciation for that.

He scrolled down through the pages, glancing out the window every so often to see the sun get that little bit lower. Despite how cloudy it was, the light still managed to break through and warm the surface of the comforter, and from the corner of his eye he spotted his phone beneath a few items of clothing, reflecting the gold of the sun. He reached for it absentmindedly, rotating it in his hand as he continued to read through the pages of his comic, his eyes scanning each page with a certain laziness.

And then his phone vibrated.

He was far more excited than he probably should have been, but that feeling quickly drained away when he realised the only thing lighting up the scree was a request to be put on charge. The smile fell from his face and he glared at the screen in disappointment, hating the object for giving him such hope.

He knew exactly why he was irked, and perhaps he had come to terms with it fully now but that didn't make things any easier. Nor did it ease his worrying.

Dean actually felt kind of ashamed for forgetting about Cas for such a long period of time, even though they both had their own shit to worry about. The only real difference between them, he supposed, was the fact that Dean could easily escape from his current situation. Cas was stuck with his sickness for God knows how long and being active probably risked making it worse.

It sucked.

Dean pursed his lips, looking to the ceiling. He didn't exactly want to come off as clingy - although he wouldn't be surprised if that was already Castiel's impression of him - but he wanted to check in and make sure everything was alright. 

He rummaged through his bag momentarily, drawing out the usb charger to connect to his phone before plugging everything in and staring down at the blank message that opened on his screen at the press of a button.

_Okay. So, avoid clingy. And desperate._

**Dean: Hi.**

He frowned, scratching at his brow.

No.

**Dean: Hey.**

_Shit._

Dean let out a heavy sigh, thumping his head back against the wall. It should not have been this difficult to write one fucking sentence. Hell, he could barely get past the greeting bit, but if he didn't include a 'hello' of some sorts he was worried the text would seem a lot less heartfelt.

But then, he didn't want it to be too overbearing, because all Dean was doing was asking how Cas was holding up. It required, at the minimum, three words, and Dean couldn't even put them in the right fucking order.

It was just a text. To a person. It wasn't exactly a challenge.

Dean rubbed at his jaw in agitation, staring at the half-typed message on his screen.

_Fuck it._

He rewrote the entire sentence, barely reading the words that filled each line, before finally hitting send and throwing his phone to the side.

It wasn't until about half twelve that Dean actually got a response, and yes, seeing the message glow on his screen did make his heart beat a little bit faster, but that was totally normal because he'd been worrying for the majority of the evening and it most certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Dean had been wanting to hear his voice since they parted ways.

God, he was so fucking far gone for someone he barely knew.

But he was excited by it.

Dean sat up in bed, quickly accepting Castiel's apology and sending the message before he started to overthink things and write more than necessary like he had before. He'd rather not think about the message he'd sent prior, cringing slightly whenever he thought about the fact that Cas had had to read it.

He was surprised by how fast Castiel replied to him this time around, but he was in no way disappointed. There was a certain clarity to Cas' texts that pretty much conveyed exactly how the guy spoke naturally, which was both weird and oddly comforting. 

**Castiel: How are you holding up right now. Is everything alright**

Dean drew his bottom lip between his teeth, shuffling back on the mattress until his back was pressed to the pillows. 

**Dean: Yeah everythings great. Bobbys home so i can sleep in an -**

He was mid-type when the call from Castiel flashed on his screen, his face flushing as his heart thudded erratically in his chest.

_Holy shit._

 

* 

 

"You know, you can tell me to fuck off if you'd rather go to bed now. I won't mind."

"No, kid. Keep talking. It's okay."

"Are you sure?" Dean followed up quietly. "You sound pretty tired."

Castiel hummed, his voice low and drowsy as it traveled down the line. "You don't wanna talk to me anymore?"

"That's not the reason and you know it."

Castiel was quiet for a moment as Dean rolled onto his side, cradling his phone to his ear and staring up at the ceiling as he waited for a reply. This was the third time he'd shifted the topic to that of Castiel's current state because it was pretty fucking obvious the guy was tired. He was practically yawning his way through every sentence, and yeah; maybe he claimed to have trouble sleeping and stuff, but that didn't mean he couldn't  _try_ and get some rest. Especially when it was getting incredibly late.

The only thing was, Cas said he'd been resting ever since he got back home.

Castiel huffed, and Dean let himself smile, knowing that the longer he persisted, the more likely Cas would want to drop the call. Well, that wasn't exactly a great thing. He didn't want to piss Cas off so badly that the next time he called the angel would still hate him for it. And he also (really) didn't want to stop talking, even if it was totally selfish of him to make Cas stay up past midnight when it was clear the angel was zoning out every so often.

It was, admittedly, rather cute. Mainly because when Cas was thinking about an answer, he'd start humming a little, or he'd tap his finger close to the mouthpiece in a way that Dean probably would have found annoying if it had been someone else in Cas' place. Obviously it wasn't that good a sign considering how focused Cas had seemed around him before, but there wasn't really anything he could do. The angel was stubborn, and Dean was pretty sure that if he persisted, Cas was gonna pull some 'I'm-older-than-you-which-means-I'm-always-right' crap.

"I don't get it. Why'd you keep making me out to be some kind of invalid?"

"You know why," Dean murmured.

"Yes, but you're making it out to be worse than it actually is," Castiel insisted softly. "I'm always tired, Dean. This isn't anything new."

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. "I just think you should be a little more cautious. This could be ... it could get worse for you if you don't take care of yourself properly."

Cas grumbled something under his breath, way too low for Dean to catch a word of it. Not that he really cared. If anything he found it funny, given that Cas was the adult and he wasn't meant to be getting all grumpy when he didn't get his own way.

"You know, for someone who wanted to keep talking, you're being pretty quiet," Dean murmured teasingly.

"That's because initially I asked for  _you_ to keep talking. You were in the middle of telling me what you'd done today."

Dean could feel the heat touch his cheeks, tucking his nose beneath the blanket. "Are you even interested in hearing about that stuff?"

"Why wouldn't I be interested?"

"Because ... because it's not interesting? I mean, you'd been quiet pretty much the whole time I was talking to you. I didn't think you were actually paying attention."

Castiel let out a light laugh, following up with a yawn, but the humour was still present in his tone when he began to speak again, making Dean's chest feel all weird and warm.

"I wasn't going to interrupt you while you were speaking, you dork," Castiel whispered fondly, his breath echoing down the line. "Is that what this is about? You think I'm bored?"

"No. No, I'm genuinely worried about ... you ," Dean admitted, bringing his knees up to his chest for comfort. He felt stupid and sappy, and he was ridiculously anxious as to how this conversation would continue. He still didn't know Cas that well, and even though Cas'd been all sweet and adorable up until this point, Dean didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Don't be. I'm going to be fine. I just, uhhh ... fuck; Dean I'm just not used to this, you know?" Castiel started, his voice still gentle, although there was an element of uncertainty to it. "You've been really fucking nice to me and -"

There was a sharp crackling before the line went dead, and Dean found himself scrabbling to redial Castiel's number, wanting to hear what else the angel had to say. He knew it was probably costing Cas quite a bit as it was, given the fact that his phone claimed they'd already been talking for around about two hours, but still. He couldn't just _leave_ the conversation like that. And besides; he _wanted_ to keep talking. 

But it was Cas' call that came through first and Dean all but dropped his phone in his haste to answer, fumbling pathetically before bringing his cell up to his ear once more. "Yeah, uhhh, hi. Again."

"Sorry about that, Dean. The reception here's not exactly great."

"Th-that's okay," Dean assured him, rubbing the edge of the comforter with his thumb. "To be honest the reception's not great here either. I think it might have something to do with the weather at the moment."

"There a storm where you are or something?" Cas asked.

"Nah. It started raining a while back though," he murmured, nuzzling into the pillow. "It's not too bad but it might mess with the connection a little."

"I hope not," Castiel commented lightly, and Dean's smile returned. He was starting to get used to it now; the relaxed atmosphere that seemed to go hand in hand with the phone calls, and Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been grateful for something so ... subtle. Because it wasn't obvious. Not really. Only once the conversation had come to a standstill - like now - could he actually really appreciate it, able to replay the speech in his thoughts and how it sounded, and it was so fucking weird to think about but Dean knew that talking to Cas gave him a different kind of release to what he'd actually been aiming for. Hell; Dean hadn't talked about anything all that personal over the phone yet, but he'd liked being able to talk about stuff face to face because although verbal comfort was great, Cas was also - in spite of his claims - actually pretty good at being all paternal and caring and just downright understanding.

"So, uhhh ..." Dean cleared his throat and Castiel huffed out another slight laugh when Dean stalled, trying to come up with something decent to continue with.

"So ...?"

"I can't actually remember what I was going to say," Dean mumbled. That resulted, for some reason or another, in more of Castiel's laughter. Well, it was more like giggling which was insanely fucking cute and had a smirk pulling at Dean's lips at the sound of it.

"Don't laugh at me, you asshole."

"I can laugh at you if I like, you big loser," Castiel told him, and Dean snorted, rolling onto his back.

"You know, I expected that kind of insult from my brother. Not a grown man."

"Don't want to damage that fragile ego of yours, do I?"

"That's real sweet of you, Cas," Dean murmured playfully. "See, this is why you're my favourite person."

"What? Because my insults aren't actually that insulting?"

Dean bit his lower lip, pushing his free hand through his hair. "Yeah. Okay. Let's go with that."

He could hear the smile to Castiel's voice when the angel spoke again, affection and amusement lacing each word, making Dean's chest swell with that incredibly light feeling.

"Have to admit, even if it's for something like that, I'm still pretty honoured to be considered your favourite person," Cas stated. "It's cute. Thank you."

"I'm your favourite person too, right?" Dean questioned, his shadow coiling around his legs beneath the covers languidly.

"I don't really know anyone else worthy of that title, so sure. It's all yours."

"Wow. Thanks, Cas. Couldn't you have dressed it up a bit?"

"What, you want a badge or something to go with it?"

"Wouldn't mind having a badge if you're offering one."

"What are we even ..." Castiel sighed heavily. "Can we go back to having a normal conversation please? This is exhausting."

Dean laughed, wetting his lips. "You're incredibly fussy, aren't you."

"I'm not fussy. I'm just too tired to really contribute all that much right now."

The smile Dean wore softened, and he propped himself up on his elbows, resting his chin in his free hand. "Go to sleep then, Cas. I can call you tomorrow."

"Dean -"

"C'mon, dude. Please don't argue with me this time," Dean pleaded tentatively. "Besides, I should probably be getting to bed anyway. I got a ton of chores to do in the morning."

The angel fell silent as Dean gazed down at the creases in his pillows, at the pale bedsheets that still held that faint scent of Bobby's detergent. Maybe he did wish he had Cas next to him as opposed to hundreds of miles away, but even he could acknowledge just how far-fetched an idea that was.

"I'll go to bed now if you promise not to bring up my lethargy at all tomorrow. Alright?"

Dean smirked, his shadow tucking the comforter around him as he settled back down into his previous position. "I'll try my best."

Castiel grumbled another incoherent sentence, but again, Dean wasn't all that fussed. They were negotiating, and if it meant that Castiel was able to even attempt getting some decent sleep, then Dean could definitely try and hold his tongue, all concerns aside.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

Dean paused for a moment, letting his eyes close and his brow furrow as he attempted to summon the words he should have voiced two evenings ago.

"I hope you sleep okay. I mean, I hope you don't have any more of those nightmares tonight."

_Close enough._

He wasn't all that surprised by the pause in conversation that followed, but he could still feel his face burn hot. Castiel had mentioned it briefly earlier, yet it had sorta stuck in Dean's thoughts because Cas had _definitely_ mentioned it once before.

Dean figured something really bad must have happened in Castiel's past to cause him to have them so frequently.

Unless, of course, he was similar to Sam in the sense of premonitions, but Cas would have mentioned that when he'd previously discussed his powers, wouldn't he?

Not that it was any of Dean's business. That's why he hadn't asked about the content of the angel's nightmares either. Castiel was under no obligation to tell him anything, and for all Dean knew, it could have been a pretty sore subject. Even addressing it now was somewhat risky, but he was desperate to show that he was just as willing to listen to Castiel's problems as the angel was willing to listen to his.

"That's, uhhh ... that's sweet, Dean." The angel coughed lightly before following up with another pause, and Dean's shadow writhed beneath the sheets. "I hope you sleep well too."

"So, I'll talk to you tomorrow?" Dean followed hopefully, wanting to make sure that nothing had changed in the space of the past minute.

Because he was just that far gone, so it seemed.

"Yeah, okay," Castiel replied, and Dean could hear the faint hiss of static over the sound of Castiel's voice, encouraging him to quickly move from his bed to get closer to the window. He winced at the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet, and he stilled completely when he realised just how silent the rest of the house was, nothing but the sound of Cas talking and the faint whistle of the wind through an ill-fitted pane filling the emptiness. "What sort of time do you want me to phone?"

Dean stared down at his bare feet, at the dark tendrils that nervously coiled around his ankles. "No, dude. I'll call you, okay? So far everything's been charged to your account and it's not fair of me to allow you to pay for everything when we can alternate," he insisted quietly, glancing quickly to the door. "But I'll call at about eight, if that's okay with you?"

Castiel hummed in response. "Yes, that's fine."

"Okay then," Dean smiled. "Goodnight, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I have art for this chapter but it's almost 2am and it's taking forever to upload so I'll just sort it out when i get back from work tomorrow or something  
> Idk. I'm so freakin' tired right now. I was meant to be doing art work today instead of writing  
> whoopsidaisy
> 
> I also need to do major editing tomorrow so I'm really sorry about the quality of my writing and stuff. Eurovision really took it out of me this year
> 
> I'm rambling. I'm gonna go to sleep now


End file.
